


All We Ever Wanted was Sunlight and Honesty

by Scrib_hneoir



Series: He Said, She Said [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Fluff, I'm kinkshaming myself, In which Kenma is selfish and Kuroo is a coward, M/M, Mild Smut, Stocking Kink, Stripper AU, Stripper Setters AU, ace/demi ! kenma, asexual ! kuroo, everyone is a disaster, not everyone is in college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-08-10 05:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7832197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrib_hneoir/pseuds/Scrib_hneoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroo doesn’t mean to fall head over heels for someone out of his league.<br/><br/>“Bo, my guy, you don’t understand.” Kuroo raised his head. “I think I’m in love.”<br/>“Oh.” Bokuto let it sink it. “Oh shit.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. and you can wish away forever

**Author's Note:**

> Title and chp names from 'End Credits' by EDEN  
>   
> *NOTE* I did a shit ton of research on stripper culture, but if something seems fucky or isn't right, PLEASE CONTACT ME SO I CAN FIX IT CAUSE I REALLY WANNA BE CORRECT ABOUT ALL THIS, THANK U [(yell @ me on tungl dot hell I'll see the message sooner tbh)](http://mephistahlpheles.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> AAMAZING FUCKING ART BY [CORUU](http://coruu.tumblr.com/post/149817667108/i-have-finally-finished-my-haikyuu-big-bang) AND [ILLIET](http://illiet-art.tumblr.com/post/150192364273/here-is-my-piece-for-the-haikyuu-big-bang-i-had) GOD BLESS AMERICA AND ALL THE SHIPS AT SEA

It was entirely Iwaizumi’s fault, if anyone asked Kuroo.

Here he was in a crowded club at two AM, the music’s beat pulsing through his blood, sweat dripping down his back, strangers’ hands sliding over his shoulders as he was dragged through the crowd by Bokuto towards -

Iwaizumi had started the conversation by telling the group — Kuroo, Bokuto, Daichi, and, of course, Iwaizumi — how his now ex-girlfriend, Hana Misaki, had dumped him because she had gotten hired as a stripper and didn’t think she could continue a steady relationship. By early morning, everyone too drunk to function responsibly and too far into a game of blackjack to feel any regrets.

Bokuto had claimed he could talk her out of it. Kuroo had claimed he could pay her out of it. Daichi insisted none of them had enough money (that was how blackjack had started). Iwaizumi said he would have to be shit-faced if he even considered trying to get her back (that was how the shots had started). Finally, Bokuto got the grand idea that for Kuroo’s birthday he would give all his blackjack earnings (which ended up being everything the group had, go figure) to Kuroo, and that would be Kuroo’s present. Kuroo could then enjoy himself while Bokuto tried to talk Iwaizumi’s ex-girlfriend back into a relationship with their best friend.

So now Kuroo was at a club — _‘_ Event Horizon _’_ , fancy, burlesque, _pretentious_ — he never thought he’d find himself at in a million years. Strippers and clubs had never really interested him. Quiet bars at two AM with custom drinks — that was more his idea. Not this loud and sweaty place. Was that his chemistry teacher? Not someone he wanted to see here, of all places.

“Hey, Kuroo!” Bokuto shouted over the music. “Meet me outside by three AM, okay?”

“Sure, whatever!” Kuroo called back, but Bokuto was already gone, lost in the mass of bodies. He cringed at every point of contact — hips grinding up his legs, feet dancing over his own, fingers slipping over his shoulders and arms and under his clothes, faces too close to his own as they tried to get him to join them — and desperately wished he wasn’t here. When was the last time he had been to a strip club? Two years ago? He wanted to guess that things had changed since then.

He dug his hands into his pockets to protect the money seated there and pushed his way towards the bar, hoping they had a Long Island, because that was the only decent thing any bar could make — and Kuroo highly doubted this place could make Yaku’s infamous Bloody Mary, the only _good_ Bloody Mary Kuroo had ever had)

He squeezed in between two couples attacking each other’s faces and hailed a bartender who served him faster than he expected.

“You look like you want to be here,” the bartender joked as he slid the glass over to Kuroo’s waiting hand, then leaned on his elbows, looking fully ready to engage in conversation (Kuroo would never understand extroverts).

“How’d you guess?” Kuroo replied sarcastically with a grimace, downing half the glass quickly. Wiping at his lips, he elaborated, “Friend dragged me here for his idea of a birthday present. I got two-hundred burning a hole in my pocket and I don’t know how to get out of this guilt free.”

“I’d say spend it all here, but I don’t think your friend had the vision of you smelling of alcohol on his mind,” the other man joked, swiping at a stray of starlight hair. “But two-hundred? That’s two hours with our best here — if you’re interested in that sort of thing, anyway.”

Kuroo shrugged. “Girls were never really my interest.”

“I figured.”

Kuroo did a double take and raised a questioning eyebrow, vying for an explanation.

The man’s lips quirked up. “You’re wearing your pants like a normal person.”

“So?”

“You also came here first. I hate to stereotype, but most of the straight guys don’t come to the bar right off the bat, they don’t need to be wasted to get excited.” He chuckled at his own joke. “But we got something for everyone here.”

“For me in this kind of place? I might need a bit more alcohol.” He slapped another ten on the counter. “Gimme the strongest you got.”

The man laughed — he was cute, Kuroo supposed, were there any rules against flirting with your bartender? — and took the money, dishing out the change and making a small drink that smelled like a headache.

“Do I want to ask?” Kuroo inquired when it was set in front of him.

“Probably not,” the man giggled — _giggled!_ — and Kuroo felt like asking the guy out right then and there. He didn’t, of course, because it could count as harassment towards the staff and he might get kicked out. So he took a breath and downed the drink.

And holy shit did it _burn_. He tried to cover it but the grimacing and coughing came nonetheless. Tearing up, he sputtered, “That was stronger than I thought it would be.”

The man laughed again, clearly enjoying himself. _Probably some kind of sadist_ , Kuroo thought. _Totally masochist-Daichi’s type_. He laughed internally at the thought.

“Congrats, you’re number ten of people I’ve served who can drink that without coughing up a lung,” the man praised with smirk. “Chartreuse and your local farmer’s whiskey. Usually sends people right home — I like to give it to the unsavory folk.”

Once Kuroo recovered his breath, he asked, “You think I’m unsavory?”

The man laughed some more, leaning over the bar on his elbows. “No, you just asked for the strongest drink we served and I complied. I don’t think your unsavory at all.” The crowd began to roar and cheer at something and he glanced over Kuroo’s shoulder and smiled. “Looks like our main event is starting.”

“Main event…?” Kuroo turned to see a new, more central pole had been lit up and someone was moving towards it, hips swaying, body clad in lengths of silver fabric, feet balancing in impeccable heels, skin glistening with glitter.

_Hypnotizing_ was the best word Kuroo’s alcohol-fogged brain could come up with. The way the person reached an arm to trail a delicate finger down the pole, the way they hooked a leg around and spun for a moment before sliding the leg straight up to do a perfect, vertical split, the way he -

He?

Behind Kuroo, the bartender snickered condescendingly. “Looks like you found where you’re gonna blow your last one-eighty-seven in birthday money.”

“You think?” Kuroo mused.

“I _know_. And you’re the only one who can afford it, I’m assuming.”

“Afford what?”

“He’s one of few who accept, um, _off-stage passes_ , if you catch my drift. Anyway.” He shrugged and nudged Kuroo’s shoulder. “Better go quick before someone else steals his one AM hour.” He probably said something else, but Kuroo was already moving towards the stage like some sort of zombie, though he hungered for flesh in a different way.

Kuroo had never seen someone so alluring and captivating. Every move, every flick of his wrist, ever swing of his hips held Kuroo with an unfamiliar desire. Kuroo had seen a lot of weird things in his life, he was usually the perpetrator of weird things, but this? This was something else entirely.

Eyes like liquid gold caught his for a split second and Kuroo felt his heart stutter out of beat. The man slid down the pole, arms stretched above him, skin reflecting the light like a shower of stars. Kuroo would have kept walking had his thighs not hit the edge of the stage, and all he could do was stare up at the man dancing hypnotically above him, eyes drinking in the slender hands that swung him around the pole, imagining his own hands slipping down that muscular body.

Someone shouted a violent profanity in his ear and shoved him aside. It snapped Kuroo slightly out of his drunken dreaming enough to realize that, one, he was the only one not throwing money, thus he didn’t deserve the spot someone had just shoved him out of, and two, he wasn’t the only guy staring.

Right. Money.

He ruffled his hand through his pocket and withdrew two random bills. He wiggled his hand through the bodies and tossed them on the stage, and when the man’s eyes met his own for longer than a second, Kuroo could have sworn he died right there. He watched, hypnotized, as the dancer came to stand square before Kuroo and slid his thumbs down the cape adorning his shoulders, inching it off in synch with the turning of his body and rocking of his hips to the rhythm of the song, a slow beat that commanded the heartbeat of the crowd.

Kuroo let his eyes wander, starting at the black heels that melted into sheer black stockings covering strong thighs gripping the pole. They stopped abruptly against creamy skin with a garter of velvet lace that reached for a corset colored darker than blood. The dancer’s body curved around the pole and Kuroo threw another couple bills as his eyes followed the black lacing to bare shoulders and arms gracefully moving to the hypnotic beat, hands clad in sheer ruby gloves.

His eyes were shadowed with black and lined with gold, and a dark, dark red adorned his lips. Half-blonde half-black hair curled around his ears, pinned here and there with tiny bits of starlight. Between the fluffed waves of hair, a pair of cat ears peeked between the gleaming lights around him.

Someone tossed another bill, a woman, and Kuroo watched as the dancer turned his attention to her, bending over to snake a finger along her chin and hold her gaze long enough to earn cheers and mutters of jealousy.

Kuroo grumbled and dug into his pocket, withdrawing a fistfull of cash — how much he had no idea, but he decided it didn’t matter. He pushed his way back to the stage and slapped the money down, drawing more than one pair of eyes, including the dancer’s.

A strange quiet fell around the immediate crowd around him and spread to a couple more onlookers. Kuroo suddenly felt self-conscious with all the eyes on him — was this not normal? Did people not usually pay this much? And why wouldn’t the dancer stop looking at him, did he not know what that did to Kuroo?

After what felt like an eternity, the music returned to Kuroo’s ears and the dancer stooped low to ease the money out of Kuroo’s sweaty palm and tuck it away somewhere on his person. He knelt and leaned forward, letting Kuroo get a solid, horizontal look at his toned chest. The dancer placed a gentle hand on Kuroo’s shoulder, lowering his back as he brought his mouth close to Kuroo’s ear.

“Wait for me at the bar and the next songs are yours.”

Then he stood and continued dancing, just like that. Kuroo felt like he was floating.

In a daze, he wandered back to the bar where the bartender only smirked like some kind of devil. “Good news?”

“I… I don’t know anything about… these kinds of places.”

The bartender slid a cloudy drink towards him. “On the house, for being new and all.”

“Thanks,” was all Kuroo could manage. He wasn’t entirely sure alcohol would help his already compromised state of mind, but it couldn’t hurt, right? He helped himself to it.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve done this, Kitten,” the bartender called as Kuroo felt someone approach. He half-choked on his current sip and turned to find the dancer standing right behind him, face placid.

The dancer — Kitten? — didn’t reply, only laced his fingers through Kuroo’s and eased him off the bar stool. Kuroo didn’t need to be motivated twice. He let himself be guided away from the bar to one of the multicolored doors adorning the sides of the club.

_Oh._

It was a dimlit room, projected flames dancing along the walls with only a small table and a couch-bed draped with scarlet blankets. Kuroo’s weak legs were pushed against the couch and he fell backwards onto its surprisingly comfortable cushion. With the door shut, the music was cut off, only the heavy beat remaining to pound through the walls and up Kuroo’s legs.

And Kuroo finally got a better perspective of the man before him.

He was small, though not too much shorter than Kuroo; just… small in stature. His slender neck met slender shoulders morphing into a slender waist and slender legs and Kuroo just wanted to run his hands down that body.

Kitten hooked a delicate finger under Kuroo’s chin and lifted his head, forcing their eyes to meet — not that Kuroo was adverse to the idea.

“You’re not the like the others who come here,” he murmured, face relaxed with amusement as he draped his arms lazily over Kuroo’s shoulders. Kuroo swallowed, entire body stiff, because he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing right now — never in his entire life did he imagine he’d be in a situation like this.

“Friend’s idea… birthday present… something like that,” Kuroo choked out, and Kitten smirked ever so slightly.

“Oh?” he teased, pushing Kuroo back some so he could straddled his hips. “So you’ve never done these sorts of things before?”

“Things like - ?” Kuroo started, but was cut off by his breath being stolen, their lips slotting together like perfect puzzle pieces, all heat and tongue and breathless surprise. Kuroo was vaguely aware of hands creeping over his stomach and up his shirt, but he was too preoccupied by the vigorous heat pooling low in his abdomen as Kitten ground his hips into Kuroo’s lap.

Not just his hips — his entire body gyrated like a smooth, fluid wave. Even without the music, the bass continued to command the flow.

Kuroo wondered why he had never come here before.

Probably because he has a huge inferiority complex and crowded clubs like this made him awkward and uncomfortable. Admittedly, the bartender’s drink had completely saturated his head and rational thinking — that surely helped.

Was he moaning? He felt a low vibration escaping his throat as Kitten pulled away to push Kuroo’s button-up off his shoulders, exposing heated skin to a cooler room. Kuroo couldn’t help but shiver, which Kitten found amusing.

“You’re too hot to be cold, you know.”

“Th… that’s a compliment?” Kuroo stammered, crossing his chest with one arm self-consciously.

“Of course,” he purred, resting his lips against Kuroo’s neck, sucking and biting with an animalistic ferocity that had Kuroo groaning into his hand until the man on his lap pulled it away with a, “No need to be quiet, no one can hear you but me.”

Kitten leaned back, pulling Kuroo’s fingers to the laced front of the corset, guiding the motions of pulling the ties loose so he could shrug it off, exposing bare skin from his shoulders to his navel.

“Exactly… exactly how far… do you go?” Kuroo gasped through the color dancing across his vision and the blood pounding in his ears.

“Depends on if you touch me or not.”

And oh how Kuroo wanted to touch that smooth and sparkling skin — so he did. He reached tentative, shaking hands to Kitten’s chest, wrapping his fingers around the sides of the ribs, running his thumbs down the other’s sides, pleasantly surprised by the softness of the flesh and the resistance of muscle. When Kuroo’s hands hit hips he shuddered to a stop, gulping a heated breath as.

“Don’t worry about ruining my clothes, my shift is over when this is over,” Kitten assured calmly, taking one of Kuroo’s hands to guide it lower, slipping his fingers under the silky underwear to meet a gentle, warm heat.

“Oh my god,” Kuroo gasped, feeling crimson creep over his shoulders and up his neck as his fingers twitched helplessly against his will. It hadn’t been like this was his first time, and Kuroo often liked to boast he was the most experienced out all his friends.

_This_ , however, was undoubtedly different. Kuroo had never met someone with such an intense, knowing gaze, and the gold of Kitten’s eyes drilled into Kuroo as if they could see his very soul. _Calculating_ was a good word for it. And when they broke eye-contact, Kitten seemed to know exactly where Kuroo liked to be touched and kissed. An unfamiliar yet welcoming heat coursed through Kuroo’s veins with rippling pulses, matching the beat of whatever song was playing outside the room. He felt light, cocooned in a new kind of bliss.

Lips, the lipstick now smeared yet somehow still looking so hot, lifted to Kuroo’s ear and purred, “What do they call you?”

“K-Kuroo,” he stammered, deciding just that would do since he was positive he couldn’t get his first name out without sounding like a fool.

“Mm, Kuro Kuro,” he panted, grinding their hips together, and with Kuroo’s hand trapped between their bodies it was just a flood of sensual pleasure. Did he have a hand kink? No, his own didn’t count. Maybe it was just the lacy clothes the other was currently pulling off his shoulders. Was a stripper kink a thing? Kuroo was pretty sure his mind wasn’t making any sense right now.

“And… what should I call you?” Kuroo managed to say with little stuttering. His eyes slid up neck and over eyes and fell on the two-toned hair. “Pudding?”

He giggled — _giggled!_ Kuroo definitely had a weakness for pretty, giggling boys — and nodded. “It’s a new one, most just call me Kitten.”

“Mm, Pudding then,” Kuroo murmured, relishing the moment of comfort before Pudding rocked himself forward, hands cupping Kuroo’s chin as he gave a soft gasp that made Kuroo tense with pleasure.

“You sure you’re not new to this?” Pudding teased quietly, leaning down so his tongue could flick the corner of Kuroo’s mouth.

What Kuroo wanted to say was, “Just because you have more experience doesn’t mean I have none,” but what came out was a ludicrous moan that would surely make a god blush and shift in their seat — unfortunately, the only one blushing like mad and shifting in awkward pleasure was Kuroo. The man smirked against Kuroo’s lips before joining them in a sinful kiss that made Kuroo’s head reel, wrapping his free hand around a slim waist. Pudding’s thighs straddling Kuroo’s hips, tightening and loosening their hold to add fuel to the flame. Kuroo felt the heat reaching a roaring fire in his stomach and he tried to recall a time he had ever been this turned on.

As if reading his mind, Pudding leaned in to whisper, “And you can’t think of anyone else other than me.” Not that Kuroo could think of anyone else anyway. If there had ever been someone even remotely similar it to the way Pudding’s nails drifted down his pants, kneading his ass as if he knew exactly where Kuroo liked to be touched, Kuroo couldn’t even begin to think of it. He whimpered against Pudding’s neck, who childishly resisted when Kuroo tried to pull away.

“Hm?” Pudding pouted, digging his nails into Kuroo’s shoulders, inflicting a sharp, arousing pain. “Don’t want to go any further than this? You’re in control, you know…”

“That’s… I… It’s okay?”

“For you and your birthday present, it’s alright.”

“You’re… _sure_ it’s - ”

He was cut off by a delicate finger on his lips, sliding over them to wipe at smeared lipstick. “I’m telling you it’s okay.” He kissed Kuroo’s nose lightly and Kuroo felt his face flame. Were people in this guy’s profession supposed to be this intimate?

So Kuroo wrapped his arms around Pudding’s waist and spun them on the couch to push him down. Kuroo leaned over and drank in the smooth expanses of skin before lowering his lips around one of Pudding’s erect nipples, sucking gently, enjoying the mewling moans he elicited.

And for some reason Kuroo felt the inexplicable urge to be gentle. He was no virgin, but whether he was doing the doing or getting the doing done, it was always _rough_ , as if there were some undertones of dislike he had for the person or the person had for him.

Daichi had called it ‘hate sex’ and Kuroo hadn’t wanted to admit he was right. Iwaizumi had essentially said the same, though he had also blamed it on how heavily intoxicated they had been (“experimenting” my ass, Iwaizumi was clearly a raging bisexual). And Bokuto… Kuroo was glad they had never done anything beyond making out a couple times, he was unsure he could have preserved their friends had they gone any further.

Kuroo didn’t think he was being picky and unrealistic when he talked about some “special” kind of sex, though all his friends did.  

So this? This was on a whole other plane of existence and probably _exactly_ what Kuroo had subconsciously been looking for since he discovered what sex even was. The material world had dropped out from under his feet and Kuroo’s mind was a twisting rollercoaster of ecstasy and hunger, unable to comprehend anything other than his hands on soft skin or Pudding’s fingers trailing down his sides, digging hard into his hips.

Kuroo worked his mouth downward, planting soft kisses across Pudding’s stomach before meeting the beginning of his naval. He passed over the bulge of Pudding’s underwear, however, and instead he spread Pudding’s legs so Kuroo could kiss the inside of his thigh, keeping his own eyes trained on Pudding’s. Pudding had curled his hands into the material of the couch, and his legs squirmed with unspoken need. Kuroo’s lips quirked into a smile and he bit down on the soft flesh before kissing around it with a gentle finesse. Pudding groaned as his legs fought against Kuroo’s grip, but Kuroo held firm.

Once satisfied with the mark left there, Kuroo leaned back to evaluate how utterly amazing Pudding looked with the stockings. His muscled calves were clearly defined by the sheer, black fabric, skin shaven to add to the allure. Kuroo’s hands slid down to Pudding’s ankles, fingers twitching as Kuroo tried to decide where he wanted to touch first.

After a moment he smiled, trailing one hand up mid-calf to lift Pudding’s leg so he could press his lips to the inside of Pudding’s foot. The vibration of pleasure that shivered through Pudding made Kuroo smirk and plant another one. Up and up he worked, nipping at skin and stocking as he went. When his lips met Pudding’s knee, he let his hands follow, sliding his hands up Pudding’s leg to where the garter met hot skin.

“Do… you mind?” he asked softly, fingers teasing the edge of the sheer fabric.

Pudding shook his head.

Kuroo smiled warmly and hooked his fingers under the stocking to pull it slowly down. Pudding raised his leg and arched his foot to make it easier, but it only made Kuroo slow down and relish the shivering, bronzed skin under the flame-colored lighting. Pudding was displaying himself before Kuroo like some kind of offering, utterly willing to let Kuroo do as he pleased, knowing full well he would enjoy it too.

Kuroo knew he fucked up a lot — school, family, friends, and he always felt terrible about it.

This? This felt like the first thing he was doing right.

When the stocking slipped off Pudding’s foot, he kicked it away before sitting up to pull down the other. He did so much quicker, and Kuroo was too hypnotized to argue. With his legs free and bare, Kuroo was shaking with physical desire and an unfamiliar passion rippling through his body.

His eyes traced up from Kenma’s ankle to his arched neck, then back down to the noticeable bulge in his pants — Panties? Underwear? Kuroo wasn’t sure what to call them, but they were _small_ and _pretty_ — and swallowed. He wanted so so bad to help release the pressure he knew was there, but at the same time scared that he was breaking some Stripper Commandment, and he didn’t want to accidentally insult what Pudding did by taking advantage of him.

Did this count as taking advantage of him? Even though Pudding had said ‘yes,’ Kuroo still felt a seed of wrongness rooted in his stomach.

Pudding registered the hesitation and sat up, arms sliding up Kuroo’s shoulders to cup his face. “Are you still… worried?” he asked — quiet, understanding.

Kuroo swallowed again and nodded, placing one hand over Pudding’s. “I… I can’t do any more and… and feel okay about it.” _I’m going to always feel like I’m doing something wrong._

Pudding nodded, straightening before slipping from the couch, pushing Kuroo’s knees apart to settle himself between them.

Kuroo felt heat flood up to his face. “Wh-what are you doing?” he stammered, eyes moving everywhere, looking anywhere but at _him_.

Pudding tilted his head to the side in such an innocent gesture that Kuroo felt like a physical manifestation of sin. “I’m - ”

“Dammit, sorry, that was rhetorical,” Kuroo interrupted, afraid any more of Pudding’s innocent, concerned voice — _surely_ that was an act — would make him blow all reason to the wind and do something that would certainly get him thrown in jail. (He couldn’t say he was well-versed in stripper etiquette, but he was pretty sure sleeping with a stripper on company time was illegal.)

Pudding smiled then — a real smile of genuine happiness, something Kuroo had never imagined he would encounter on a night like tonight in a place like this.

And the light of his face went straight through Kuroo’s heart.

“Don’t worry, I’m doing this because I want to.”

Kuroo watched in starstruck fascination as Pudding undid Kuroo’s pants, slipped his quite hard length free, and wrapped his mouth around it without hesitation. A flood of sensual pleasure washed through Kuroo’s body and bent forward, fighting the urge to grip Pudding’s hair in lieu of being able to do _nothing else_.

“Holy shit,” Kuroo gasped, laughing at himself through the groan of pleasure that ripped itself from his mouth. This only seemed to spur Pudding on, bobbing his head and moving his hand and Kuroo was simply melting at the touch. He rocked forward and Kuroo hissed through his teeth, cracking open his eyes to see that Pudding was touching himself in addition to everything else. With everything going on, Kuroo felt like he was seeing some new religion before his very eyes.

Kuroo wasn’t sure if he should be embarrassed or not, but he reached his orgasm pretty quickly after Pudding started — Pudding took all of it and had he the energy, Kuroo would have praised him for it. Had he any energy at all he would have gotten hard all over again at the sound of Pudding moaning against Kuroo’s thigh as he reached his own climax. Kuroo half-wished he had been the cause of it, but he decided he was already indirectly involved.

Kuroo leaned back against the wall, feeling all smiles and hums, the bass from the music outside finally merging back into his senses. After closing his eyes and taking a couple deep breaths to try to re-ground himself from his orgasmic high, he looked down to where Pudding had rested his head against the couch, still sitting on the floor.

“You look exhausted,” Kuroo murmured, finding the energy himself to lean forward and put a concerned hand on Pudding’s shoulder. He found the other’s skin cold from sweat and he frowned. “Do you get to rest after this?”

Pudding took a deep breath and picked up a watch from the folds of clothing discarded around the floor. “A little after three. I still have about thirty minutes. With you. Until the end of my shift.”

“Oh.” Kuroo looked around. “You should get off the floor, it’s kind of cold.”

“Hm? And go where?”

Kuroo frowned. “How do you even have the energy to sass me?”

Pudding gasped a laugh, relenting and pulling himself up onto the couch. Kuroo scooted over to make room, but Pudding just pulled him back down so they lay almost on top of each on the suddenly too-small couch.

“Um, are you sure - ”

“It’s fine. I won’t tell.”

Kuroo smirked fondly. “I was going to say, are you sure this is comfortable.” His eyes creased in withheld laughter. “I’m not _always_ second-guessing things, you know.”

“Hm?” Pudding hummed, smiling against Kuroo’s shoulder. “I’d like… to see more of that.”

Kuroo relaxed himself and stared at the ceiling, blinking back sleepiness. “I’m… not too sure you’d want to.”

Pudding breathed an unintelligible reply against Kuroo’s chest before pressing his nose into the crook of Kuroo’s neck. After a moment, Kuroo shifted to wrap an arm around Pudding. While it was probably overly intimate, it was more comfortable for the both of them. It also made Kuroo think of his past bed-partners; one-night stands, people he came back to weekly, those he spent a couple years with… No matter how long he knew the person or how close he got, they were never romantic, they were never domestic, and they never cuddled over stupid reasons like “it’s cold.”

So Kuroo held Pudding. And they held each other until someone pounded on the door to tell them the club was closing.

* * *

Kenma could feel his face burning as he rushed home at o’dark hundred, the beginning of winter grabbing at whatever bare skin it could find. He felt like sinking into the ground and never re-appearing on this mortal land ever again. Not only was he embarrassed, he was _mortified_.

He had worked a total of six years in the stripping industry — four years at a burlesque club, and now he was going on his second year at ‘Event Horizon _’_ , a club infamous for being expensive and non-traditional, which suited Kenma’s burlesque background quite nicely. So he was well versed in what being a stripper entitled — _this_ was not it.

Kenma wasn’t looking forward to putting in his resignation letter. Working up to a club on the tier ‘Event Horizon _’_ was on had taken years, and it was a place he was lucky enough to feel safe and respected in.

That wasn’t why he was resigning, of course. In fact, if he was being honest, he had never felt more respected in his _life_ — and that was saying something.

After slipping into his apartment and sliding the bolt in place, Kenma dug his phone from his coat pocket and hastily dialed the one person who he knew would have any idea on how to act accordingly.

_“Whaaaaat do you waaaant,”_ Tooru groaned tiredly from the receiver.

“I… I’m in trouble,” Kenma stammered.

_“Hm? Police? Or maybe it’s the mafia this time?”_

Kenma shook his head at the knocked over plant and remembered he had to feed Ghost. He started to the pantry to dig up the cat food.

“No, not like that.” He took a deep breath. “I kinda… went too far. This morning.”

_“On a shift?”_

“Yeah.” Phone pressed between his face and shoulder, he dug the scoop into the kibbles. The sound seemed hollow in the otherwise silent flat.

_“Well, Kitten, I don’t know what to say,”_ Tooru sighed. _“I never thought you’d find yourself in such a situation — but I do have to ask…”_ Kenma flinched in anticipation. _“Did you enjoy it?”_

_‘No’_ and ‘Yes!’ flashed across his tongue simultaneously and Kenma only managed a strangled squeak. “It… it was…” He trailed off as he dumped the kibbles in the ceramic dish.

Tooru grunted. _“It’s fine, it’s not easy to explain the first time — but let me sum it up for you: it was amazing, you both loved it, and you are_ not _quitting because you broke a couple rules. Believe me, it’s totally fine to do this kind of thing. What do you think I even do in my free time?”_ He laughed and Kenma frowned. _“Don’t worry, Kozume, you don’t have anything to worry about. As long as Shimizu doesn’t find out you’re_ fine _.”_ There was some shuffling and a whisper. _“Alright, take a nap, get your coconut americano, and I’ll see you at work this evening, alright? I know one-night stands aren’t you think, so take it easy.”_

Kenma nodded and murmured a, “Sure,” but Tooru had already hung up. Kenma sighed against the floor. Ghost had yet to appear. She was probably sleeping. He stood up.

“Caramel macchiato,” he grumbled down the hall, setting an alarm before changing and passing out.

* * *

“Kuroo.” Bokuto slapped his hands on the counter of ‘Crow’s Nest’ and narrowed his gold eyes at his friend, scrutinizing his fatigued eyes and blissfully haunted expression. This was new, and it had Bokuto worried. “I said meet outside at three AM.”

Kuroo’s hands idly dried a glass from the sink that had been clean five minutes ago. “Yeah?”

“I waited half an hour for you! Daichi said you got home at five in the morning. Inquiring minds want to know: what were you doing?”

Kuroo finally set the glass down and grabbed the next one. “Aren’t you on the clock?”

“Not for another ten minutes, so right now I’m a paying customer and you have to answer my questions or I’ll give you a bad review.”

“Those surveys don’t even print for employees.”

“I’ll use Iwaizumi’s membership, _anyway_.” Bokuto picked up a plastic spoon to wave at Kuroo’s face. “I demand to know why you didn’t come home until five. And what’s it now? Nine? You started work at seven?”

“If it’s nine then you should be working. Right now.”

Bokuto sighed and put the spoon back. “I’ll get the details later, then. You just go take a break and drink, like, ten espresso shots.”

When Kuroo didn’t have a reply, Bokuto’s eyes widened. “Not even a ‘that could kill me’? Oh shit, I’m talking to Yachi about this one and I _know_ she’ll send you straight home.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, simply walked to the backroom, donned his apron, and tracked Yachi down in the manager’s office. Knocking on the side of the open door, he said, “So… you noticed Kuroo, yeah?”

“M-hm?” She didn’t look up from the computer where she was furiously composing an email.

“Probably totally not in my place to ask, but can you send him home? He looks like he’s gonna pass out where he stands.”

“Ah.” She looked up and lowered her glasses so she could see him. He and Kuroo often poked fun at her farsightedness, asking her to read things off a menu or receipt when they knew she had left her glasses in the office — it was all in fun, though, and Yachi didn’t seem to mind. Despite being younger, she was one of the best manager’s Bokuto had ever worked with.

She glanced at the whiteboard where shift schedules were written. “Um. Yeah. I did see. Well. If you can stay an extra two hours, I’ll let him go at ten.”

He grinned victoriously. “Sounds perfect to me!” He fled the office before she could change her mind.

Bokuto arrived behind the counter to a steady line forming. Hopping to the second register, the first run by Natsu Shouyou (whom Bokuto simply _adored_ ), he called over the next customer, a shy-looking guy with two-toned hair.

Did he seem familiar? Probably not. Bokuto grinned and asked, “What can I get you?”

The other man had his face half-buried in his phone, texting at astounding speed that Bokuto took a couple seconds to marvel at.

“Caramel macchiato. Medium,” he deadpanned, not even looking up when he slid his debit card across the counter. Bokuto shrugged it off — he dealt with a lot of withdrawn customers, it was part of the job.

What did make the guy look up, however, was a loud crash that made Bokuto jump out of his own skin. Spinning around, he found Kuroo had dropped three mugs and a plate to stare in red-faced horror at the customer Bokuto was helping.

“Kuroo!” Natsu exclaimed, peeking around Bokuto. “Are you alright?”

Bokuto glanced between his tongue-tide friend to the customer to find his eyes had widened and a blush had creeped across his nose. Now, Bokuto wasn’t the quickest at connecting the dots, and he admitted as such, but this puzzle was blatantly obvious and he was thrilled with it.

“Holy _shit_ ,” he stage-whispered. “Holy- this was why you didn’t - !” Bokuto’s words and breath were knocked out of him by Kuroo full on body-tackling him to the ground in order to shove his hands over Bokuto’s face, aggressively whispering for him to, “ _Shut the hell your mouth!_ ”

The tussle lasted about minute with Natsu dancing behind them, trying to avoid being kicked in the shins. “Guys, guys!” she exclaimed, “you gotta stop! You’re gonna - !”

She was interrupted by a coffee pot rattling off the counter and shattering near their heads.

“ - break something,” she finished weakly. She squeezed her eyes shut, sucked in a huge breath, and promptly shouted, “DAICHI!”

That stopped the fight — that and Bokuto successfully sitting on Kuroo’s back with both his arms incapacitated. Natsu clapped and cheered, as did a couple others, only silenced by Daichi appearing from the kitchen area, taking one look at the mess, and heaving a disappointed sigh.

“Kuroo, back room, now,” he ordered. “Bokuto, finish with your customer, then get a broom, then back room.”

Bokuto bounced back to his feet. “Yes sir!” he replied, watching helplessly as Kuroo was pulled to his feet and dragged to the back room. Bokuto turned to the man from before — who was staring at him with a strangely intense gaze. “S-sorry about that,” Bokuto stammered. “Vanilla cappuccino?”

“Caramel macchiato,” he corrected in a quiet voice, finally shifting his eyes from Bokuto’s face to his phone. He stared hard at the screen for a moment as Bokuto rang up the purchase and prepared a cup.

“Um.”

Bokuto raised his eyes, unable to keep the hope from bouncing in his chest. “Yeah?”

The man knotted his fingers around his phone before murmuring, “What’s his name?”

Bokuto grinned. “Hm? You mean the stubborn motherfu- sorry, the stubborn moron I work with? Black hair? Second hottest, only to myself?”

He looked confused, but nodded tentatively.

_Yes!_ “That was Kuroo Tetsurou, he’s a great guy. An idiot, but great.”

“Oh.” The other looked down. “Thanks.”

“No problem! And your drink will be served down there.” He pointed a little ways down the counter to where Futakuchi was speedily preparing various drinks. “Hope to see you again!” Bokuto called with an honest smile.

Bokuto then handed his register off to Aone and grabbed a broom. Once the mess was safely cleaned up, keeping an eye on the man from before all the while until he left, he headed to the back room.

After a stern talking-to from Daichi (which, at this point, Bokuto was familiar with), he found Kuroo splayed out on the couch in the break room.

Bokuto laughed at his exhausted, bruised up friend before pulling a chair up. “You should thank me.”

“For bruising my head and making my already bitching headache worse?” Kuroo grumbled.

Bokuro grinned some more. “No no, for getting his _name_.”

Kuroo bolted upright and slipped off the couch. “His _what_?!”

“I figured you probably didn’t know it, and since he paid with a card, guess what I have?” He held up the store’s copy of the receipt. “He’s got a nice name, but that’s just my two-cents.”

Kuroo was staring so hard at the paper he may as well have burned holes through it.

“Kozume… Kenma.”

* * *

Kenma’s face was _flaming_. If he thought had been embarrassed earlier this morning, it was nothing compared to what he felt now. If butterflies existed in people’s stomach, then he had at least a thousand fluttering ravenously inside him right now — he felt like he was being eaten alive.

And what was bothering him even more was that he didn’t understand why he felt this way. By all signs, he should be walking away from this blank-faced and uncaring, like Tooru or literally anyone else would. A new co-worker was blatant about her recent breakup, and the reasoning behind it — “At our ages, it just doesn’t make sense to date _and_ work here, not unless you’re married. I just want to keep my options open, it wasn’t gonna work out in the long run anyway,” in her words exactly.

Yet Kenma couldn’t stop the flow of unreasonable and inexplicable feelings that were filling up his chest with both a physical and emotional desire.

Tooru had said Kenma wasn’t one for one-night stands.

He was so so right.

And Kenma was so so fucked.

* * *

Kuroo stumbled back home around ten-thirty and collapsed in bed without a second thought. After a solid five hour nap — it was a nap and no one was gonna convince him otherwise — he wearily dragged himself to the bathroom for a well needed shower.

“About time you got up,” Iwaizumi complained as Kuroo shuffled out into the living room, collapsing on the couch next to him. Kuroo reached over and attempted to grab a french fry, but Iwaizumi slapped his hand away. “Nuh uh, you order your own dinner — and then you’re gonna tell me how it went last night.”

Kuroo flung his head back. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Basically, I just need you to fill in the gaps from Bokuto’s story, which are a lot.”

Kuroo took a deep breath. “I need two-hundred dollars.”

Iwaizumi choked on his drink. “You need _what_?!”

“Okay, look.” Kuroo sat up and set his hand in front of him, continuing to talk with them. “Here’s the deal. I need to see him again. It also cost me everything from the blackjack night. You give me two-hundred now, I see him again, I’ll tell you everything after and pay you back over the next month.”

“You… you think,” Iwaizumi spluttered through laughs, “think I have two-hundred just _sitting around_?” He took a second to catch his breath, then, “And you also think I’ll agree to those terms? No way!”

Kuroo frowned. “Then what do you propose?”

Iwaizumi straightened. “You tell me what happened, exactly, and I’ll _think_ about helping you out.”

“Like… everything that happened?”

“Well obviously I don’t want to hear the grimy details.”

Kuroo groaned. “I can agree to that. Okay, so basically there was this stripper.”

“I could guess that much.”

“But he was… _different._ ”

“Now you’re a walking-talking cliche.”

“No, no, you have to get this. C’mon, you know strippers, you’re dating one.”

“No, Misaki broke up with me.”

“Whatever. Oh! Do you know how Bokuto did with that?”

Now Iwaizumi groaned. “He failed, of course, and almost got himself a night in jail. I had to bail him out and I’ve never met a more _terrifying_ strip-club manager.” He shuddered. “I think that’s all you need to know.”

“Well, sorry to hear that, I think.”

He waved his hand. “Don’t be, I had already come to terms with it, it’s you idiots who wouldn’t let it go.”

Kuroo shrugged. “We just want to see you happy, I guess.”

“That’s also not what we’re talking about right now. Now continue spilling.”

“Whatever you say. Well, there was this stripper. After two drinks at the bar — the bartender was also cute, but whatever — _he_ came on stage, and I kinda just… gave him whatever money I had left… got a private show… oh Jesus.”

“What? What happened?”

“Fuck, I don’t know, Iwaizumi, you know more about strippers than I do!”

“Hey, don’t snap at me!” he, ironically enough, snapped. Kuroo stared hard at him for a long moment before he added, “I mean… I _guess_ I know more.”

“Then tell me, and answer me seriously: do strippers give blow jobs and then take a nap with you?”

“I’m sorry— _what_?”

Kuroo groaned and brought his face to his hands. “That’s what I thought, that’s what I thought!”

“Hey hey hey! Don’t sound so down, I mean, it can’t be _that_ uncommon. Here, shit, oh my god, you know what?” Iwaizumi jumped to his feet and patted his pockets before rifling through the garbage on the coffee table. “Dammit, where’s my pho- here we go.” He tapped furiously at it while Kuroo continued to wallow in various, depressive emotions.

“C’mon, pick up you bastard, pick up!” Iwaizumi did a little dance around the living room. Kuroo could hear it when it went to voicemail and Iwaizumi shouted, “ _Bitch_!” He redialed the number and continued his dance.

“Who’re you calling?” Kuroo finally asked.

Iwaizumi just grimaced.

* * *

He could hear his phone buzzing that familiar, X-Files themed buzz that let him know exactly who was trying to contact him. He let the ring go, and when the voicemail dinged, he listened with pursed lips to the angry, _“Bitch!”_ before smirking.

When the phone started buzzing again, he picked it up.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa exclaimed with false cheer. “How are you?”

_“Cut the crap, Shittykawa, I need to turn in that favor.”_

“Oh?” Oikawa absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair around his finger. “I owe you a couple favors. Is this for that big one I owe you from two years ago? You know, the one that got the police involved?”

_“It’s a big favor, so yes, I’ll turn in that one.”_ He sounded aggravated, tense.

Oikawa smirked. “No-can-do, sweetheart, I’m busy for the next three nights and my social schedule has no time for sourpusses like you. Maybe another time.”

He was about to hang up when Iwa-chan begged, _“I need you to get someone. A co-worker of yours. One night, private dance. It’s for a friend.”_

“‘For a friend’… A classic excuse, but I can go along with it.” Oikawa leaned on his elbows, making faces in the mirror across him. “Who does your friend need?”

_“Koz… Kozume-what?”_ Iwa turned away from the phone and Oikawa frowned. So this _was_ for a friend. _“Kozume Kenma.”_

He gasped dramatically. “Your friend wants a night with _Kitten_? But Kitten never does private shows! Not even for all the money in your bank account — believe me, I’ve bartered with him before.”

_“For this one, he just might. Tell him Kuroo Tetsurou is asking for him.”_

“Hm? So you _are_ doing this for a friend? I never took you as the gratuitous type.”

_“Shut up, I can be nice when I want to be.”_

“But never around me, huh? Tell you what, since this goes a little beyond what I owe you, I’m gonna tack on a little, say, _interest_.” He couldn’t help the way his lip quirked up in devilish delight. He watched his reflection and wondered if he could use this expression on the job. “You owe me a bar night, Iwa-chan, and you’re paying for all of it.”

There was a long pause, and just as Oikawa was beginning to frown with worry, a, _“Have it your way,”_ grumbled from the other end. He grinned at himself.

“Perfect! I’ll talk to Kitten and work it out and let you know, okay?” He purposefully spoke with a teasing lilt, a tone he knew drove Iwa up the wall, and he _loved_ doing it. “I’ll text you the details later, alright, bye!”

He blew a kiss to his reflection as Iwa shouted, _“Hey, I’m not - !”_ and hung up. He dropped the phone to the dresser, carelessly letting it clatter among the other things there. He sighed to himself and started to fix up his eye-liner.

He broke from his thoughts as none other than Kitten slid onto the cushioned stool beside him, blond-tips glinting bronze under the dim lights of the backroom. He grinned. “I was just thinking about you! How’d your performance go?”

“Boring,” was Kozume’s monotonous reply.

“Mhm? So your special visitor hasn’t made a reappearance? How saddening.”

“It was just last night.” He paused. “And I saw him this morning. Briefly.”

Oikawa sat up at that. “Ooh? And how’d that go?”

“ _Briefly_.”

“How briefly?”

“I saw him and then he tackled his co-worker to the floor and then I paid for my drink and left.”

“Oh please don’t tell me you fell for a minimum-wage man,” Oikawa pouted, trying to get a read on Kozume’s passive, tired face. He couldn’t. “Even you can barely afford your expensive tastes, it’s ridiculous.”

“I didn’t fall for anybody,” Kozume replied with a touch of sternness. Oikawa smiled to himself and rolled with it.

“Ah, so you don’t want to see him again? That’s funny, because I was _just_ on the phone with a fan of mine, and it turns out I’m not the only one trying to play matchmaker.” He winked at Kozume’s deadpan look. “Does your crush’s name happen to be Kuroo Tetsurou?”

Kozume didn’t need to reply. The way his shoulders stiffened was answer enough for Oikawa.

He smiled widely. “I mean, if you never want to see him again I totally understand.” He picked up his phone. “I’ll just let him know and - ”

Kozume swiped it from him before he could finish, taking advantage of it already being unlocked to go through recent calls. He stared hard at the name labeled **Iwa-Chan** ♥ before passing the phone calmly back to Oikawa.

“Maybe I don’t want to see him.”

Oikawa leaned over, supporting his chin on his hand. He could see the lie written all over Kozume’s face, and it was amusing to watch him struggle. Kozume didn’t often feel things, which was sometimes a good thing in his line of work, but when he did, he had a bad habit of going all or nothing.

“Then I’ll just have to surprise you,” Oikawa purred against Kozume’s ear before pulling back to evaluate himself in the mirror once more. “It’s about time you got out during these lovely, wintry afternoons; your mocha frappuccinos just don’t cut it.”

“Caramel macchiatos.”

“Whatever.”

They sat in silence for a while more before Oikawa started with surprise, “Right! I totally forgot to mention, but you’re booked tomorrow night.”

Kozume frowned deeply, not connecting the dots — boo, and Oikawa thought Kozume was smart. “Who?”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “Because whether you want to see him or not, this _Kuroo Tetsurou_ has your entire evening tomorrow. Well, not yet, I still need to talk to our dear manager, but my fanboy is turning in a favor and I just can’t leave him hanging.” Oikawa glanced at the clock and pushed himself to his feet, patting Kozume’s shoulder as he did so. “That being said, try to make yourself extra pretty for your special boy, I want to know where this goes.”

Kozume was still frowning, but it had lessened, morphed more into confusion than annoyance. “You do realize you’re actively breaking a lot of rules.”

Oikawa could only shrug. “So? It’s not like it involves any more than a handful of people — just the ones who can make magic happen need to know, and I assure you, there won’t be many.” He adjusted his straps before turning to head towards the stage. “This is a piece of cake, Kitten, just as easy as pie.”

* * *

It was the first snow of the season; a soft, gentle white that covered the town like icing. Kenma awoke early to the crystal sun across his face and a chill in the air. He snuggled within the blankets a bit more, enjoying the warmth a couple moments longer before creeping out from under them. The frozen floor on his bare feet shocked him awake, but he couldn’t quite come to hate it.

It was early morning — earlier than he was usually up, anyway. Typically he managed to sleep in until two in the afternoon, but recently his body had been waking him up early. So for the past week or so, he had gotten dressed, gone out to get his favorite caramel macchiato, maybe a bagel or muffin alongside it, gone back home, slept some more, then went to work.

It was kind of a rough schedule; the intermittent sleeping only made his body more sluggish come evening, and often times he was starting to grow sleepy long before the end of his shift.

In fact, he was still _mortified_ that he had fallen asleep on that man’s chest some nights ago. By the time his final shift had started, he had been so exhausted he had contemplated feigning being sick just to go home — but then someone had actually gotten sick, and he would have felt bad leaving too, so he had sucked it up and gone on stage.

And then that man… He had appeared so innocently, clearly out of his element, and Kenma had felt slightly bad for him. But when he had placed all that money on the stage, Kenma had known that if he was going to get a chance for a relaxing night, it was now.

He didn’t regret it, not at all… he just simply hadn’t been expecting to run into said man _so fucking soon_ , only to be followed by Oikawa breaking a hundred and one rules to play the role of Devil Cupid. If _only_ he hadn’t woken up at god-awful eight-thirty AM; if _only_ he had gone to the cafe one block further; if _only_ his liking of caramel macchiatos wasn’t an insatiable addiction; _if only, if only, if only_.

Yet here he was: tired, dressed, and out the door to go to the same cafe for the same drink in hopes of running into the same man.

How pathetic. He chastised himself for it.

Tooru was right. Tooru was always right. And Kenma fucking hated it.

He buried his hands in his pockets and tried to think about other things — like how goddamn cold it was outside — but the gods didn’t allow him much time as his phone started buzzing with text notifications. Who the hell was bothering him at nine in the morning?

_From: Keiji/Seraph8:56am_  
_ >> this flu is gonna kill me_  
_ >>> unless you kill me first_  
_ >>>> please come over and end me_  
_ >>>>> Im literally dying_

Kenma sighed.

_To: Keiji/Seraph 8:57am  
>> sorry to hear_

_From: Keiji/Seraph  8:59am  
>> bring coffee. and medicine_

_To: Keiji/Seraph 9:00am  
>> ok_

Kenma came to a halt outside the ‘Crow’s Nest’ cafe. He stood to the side, staring through the ever-so-slightly fogged window. The place emanated a busy hum, a quiet sort of chaos for the early morning hours. He could pick out the sunny orange-haired kid who seemed to genuinely enjoy interacting with customers — Kenma liked her. He could see the huge guy with spiky hair, and hear him laughing — Kenma found him annoying. And there was the tall guy who served all the drinks like they personally offended him — Kenma was wary of him.

The tall, dark-haired man — _Kuroo Tetsurou_ , the name sounded like a spring rainstorm in Kenma’s head — was nowhere in sight. _Thank god._

Well, it’s not like he was going to let that discourage him from getting his drink. He reached for the door, but a gloved hand intercepted his with an, “Allow me,” and pulled it open. Kenma jerked his head up in surprise, having not realized someone else was near him.

What he found, however, were a pair of startled, honey-brown eyes that only seemed more alive in the brisk, morning air. His midnight hair was all awry under a hat only half-pulled onto his head, and Kenma’s eyes unwarrantedly followed to where his bangs met the side of his face, tracing his cheekbones down to his chin and back up to his lips. When Kenma’s eyes began dipping lower — his neck, his collarbones, what he knew was under that jacket — he wrenched his gaze back to the man’s own.

“K… Koz… ume?” Kuroo breathed tentatively, having expected the encounter just as much as the other had.

Kenma turned and fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate titles: #rip bokuto #kuroo has no chill #kenma in stockings is my fucking jam #everyone has a stocking kink when you think about it #also I have no self control
> 
> god bless coruu, illiet, and tash for keeping me strong through this bless your beautiful souls


	2. but you'll never find a thing like today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those of you who are coming from the first posting of chp1, there have been a few changes: (1) chp1 has been edited, but you don't have to reread it. (2) I added some tags, so check those out before continuing. (3) if you think anything is wrong with the way I portrayed stripper culture, [hmu on tungle dot hell.](http://mephistahlpheles.tumblr.com/ask) (4) if you have any questions about the tags and what that means for the story, hmu on tunblr again i love chatting.

Akaashi Keiji enjoyed the lulling hours between his shifts. He lived by himself, and when he wasn’t at work he was home watching TV or maybe reading a book in the library. When a stranger tried to strike up a conversation, he would give them a deadpan look and pretend someone was calling him to avoid confrontation. When someone asked if they knew him from somewhere, he told them they were probably mistaking him for Oikawa Tooru and moved on. Akaashi didn’t ask for much, he really didn’t.

When the doorbell rang, he was excited because it had to be Kenma with the medicine. Whatever Akaashi had contracted was really wearing him down to the point where he didn’t even have energy to help himself.

When he opened the door, Kenma was there. Empty handed, face burning.

“I need help,” he stated. Akaashi stepped aside, hoping Kenma had the medicine held in one of his hands clenched behind his back. No such luck. Maybe in a pocket?

Kenma wandered into the living room and Akaashi followed, eyeing Kenma’s clothes.

Kenma started moving his hands up and down, twisting his fingers around and walking back and forth. To anyone else it looked like random flailing, but Akaashi had learned how to decipher the articulate motions. Right now, Kenma was stressed over a situation. A recent situation. Akaashi narrowed his eyes. No, a confrontation. A confrontation with… someone he hadn’t wanted to see again? Someone he hadn’t been expecting to see again?

Akaashi’s eyes hurt so he turned away. “Kenma. I have the flu,” he wheezed as he sat on the couch, reaching for a glass of water. His translation of Kenma’s chaotic hand gestures and facial expressions were always a guess, but Akaashi was usually right.

Kenma continued on as if Akaashi hadn’t said anything. Now he followed Kenma’s eyes as they widened and narrowed, as he lifted his brows and scrunched his lips together in frustration. He was confused; he didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing — and to be honest, Akaashi didn’t know either. He could usually comfort Kenma in this state, but right now Akaashi just didn’t have the energy.

“Do you have my medicine?” He could barely manage a whisper now. His tired eyes were finding it harder to follow Kenma’s erratic and highly emotional state. It was rare to see him like this, but Akaashi didn’t quite have the energy to be too worried.

Kenma continued to pace, growing flustered, biting his nails and lip and thumb. Akaashi leaned his head back, trying to stop the world from fuzzing at the edges, and hoped Kenma would calm down soon.

When he cracked an eye open a minute later, he found Kenma sitting on the armchair all curled up, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around them.

Eyes staring hard at the floor said, _I don’t know what to do._

Akaashi coughed violently and grabbed his phone.

 _To: (๑ↀᆺↀ๑) 9:29am_  
_ >> are you done?_  
_ >>> I still need medicine_

When Kenma’s phone buzzed he jumped like a startled cat, but relaxed when he pinned the noise on his phone, and even looked apologetic when he saw it was from Akaashi.

“Sorry,” he murmured, spinning his phone in his fingers. “Stressed.”

 _To: (๑ↀᆺↀ๑) 9:31am_  
_ >> go outside and clear your head_  
_ >>> and get some medicine while youre at it_  
_ >>>> coffee or hot cocoa too_

“But what if I - ” Kenma began, but was cut off by his phone buzzing again with a reply Akaashi had been planning.

_> >>>> go to a different cafe_

Kenma was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Akaashi’s reply was an impressive coughing streak and he wondered if he sounded like he was dying — he sure felt like it.

Kenma’s brow folded with worry. “Are you going to be okay?”

 _To: (_ ๑ↀᆺↀ๑ _) 9:37am  
>> maybe you’ll come back to a coughed up lung. wouldnt that be impressive_

Kenma didn’t join in on the attempted joke. “I really am sorry, I’ll go get some medicine and stuff now. Sorry.”

Akaashi just waved his hand and shooed Kenma out the door, not liking the confusion that had settled on top of his fever.

Collapsing back on the couch, he lay still for a moment, trying not to focus on the burning of his chest, then reached for his phone with a tired sigh.

_To: do not reply 9:46am  
>> whats up with kenma?_

* * *

‘Crow’s Nest’ was unusually empty for its morning hours, but Bokuto decided he should be thanking the gods for that because it allowed Kuroo to enter and stand in front of the registers to mope without being forced to move. Still, of the two registers, he still somehow blocked both of them (fucking rude).

“Hey Kuroo, what’s up?”

“Aaaaaggghhhh.”

Bokuto felt the decency to look concerned as he leaned over the counter. Kuroo’s head was bowed so low he looked like a hunchback.

“I saw you hovering outside, what happened?”

“ _Aaaaagggggghhh_.” Kuroo dropped his head into his hands.

Futakuchi wandered up beside them, leaning one hand on the counter as he scrutinized the worried Bokuto and the depressed Kuroo. “Jeez, if you’re gonna keep coming in here looking so damn down we won’t be able to put you on register — you almost put Aone to shame, and he looks like a serial killer on his good days.”

“Hey,” Bokuto snapped quietly, gently elbowing Futakuchi in the ribs. “Not the time.”

Futakuchi just shrugged and went back to his station to chat with Natsu.

“Seriously, dude.” Bokuto was frowning, and he almost _never_ frowned. Just like how Kuroo was almost _never_ this depressed and aggravated. “All this because of…” He trailed off, glanced around, then continued in a lower voice, “A _stripper_?”

“Bo, my guy, you don’t understand.” Kuroo raised his head and Bokuto was almost — _almost_ — amused by the sheer look of desperation on his friend’s face. “I think I’m _in love_.”

“Oh.” Bokuto let it sink it. “Oh _shit_.”

“ _Yeah_.”

“Then just now? Outside was…?”

“Yeah.” It was a squeak.

“And he just… fucking…”

“Yeah.”

“Fucking ran _away_?”

“Yeah!”

“But I mean… that could be a good thing!” Bokuto grasped at words that wouldn’t come to mind. “He’s afraid! It’s because he might like you back!”

“What am I, some middle school girl?” Kuroo snapped, not in mirth but rather in anxiety. “I haven’t dated in years, Bo, _years_. The last time I had a fling was months ago before college. Even when the semester ended I stuck to _work_.” He held out his hands and looked hard at them, as if the answers were written in the creases of his palms. “It almost reminds me of - ”

Bokuto’s face fell. “Don’t say it.”

“ - Tsukishima, you know - ”

“Goddamnit.”

“ - that kid from high school? I hope he’s doing okay…”

When Bokuto didn’t say anything, Kuroo looked up at him again, grimacing. “Is this bad?”

“You tell me!”

“Ass.” Kuroo made a sound out of the corner of his mouth. “You’re not even close to being helpful.”

“Fine, I’ll just see myself out the door then.” Pouting, Bokuto turned away, feeling hurt even though he knew Kuroo hadn’t meant to be mean — he had to pity his friend a little, being in love was no easy feat and it wasn’t like anyone Bokuto knew had mastered it.

But it was clear Kuroo needed to wallow in self-pity a bit more, so Bokuto let him be and headed to the back, falling onto the break room couch with a sigh.

Why was nine-twenty in the morning an acceptable time to be up? This was just unfair.

He pulled out his phone and found two texts from Iwaizumi and another two from Daichi. Weird. He never got more than one text per morning, and it was usually just Kuroo complaining about the weather.

_From: Hajimasshole   12:21am  
>> so I have a plan but I’ll text u later_

Bokuto recalled having briefly seen that one before passing out. He moved on to the others.

_From: Dadchi             4:03am  
>> iwaizumi’s borrowing my phone_

_From: Dadchi             4:23am_  
_ >> okay here we go before i jump into a pit & never return_  
_ >>> i turned in a favor and i need u to get kuroo back to the strip club tonight @ 1 am. on the fucking dot or Im dead and i s2g i dont want my death 2 be by this assholes hands_  
_ >>>> u will meet aforementioned asshole sooner or later, but the point remains. Im busy tonight, so u need to bring kuroo back to event horizon. talk 2 a guy named sugawara who’ll get everything connected and ur done frm there_  
_ >>>>> noya says ‘blaz it’ btw, he insisted i tell u_

 _From: Hasjimasshole  9:13am_  
>> hom e  
_> >> i hav no t fuxkng sl ept nd im dyin g_

Bokuto’s eyes shot open and he hurriedly replied,

_To: Hajimasshole        9:19am  
>> dude?? go 2 sleep??? ohmygod_

He waited impatiently before a simple -

_From: Hajimasshole   9:22am  
>> k_

\- arrived. He breathed a sigh of relief and reread Iwaizumi’s previous texts.

The plan seemed simple enough, but Bokuto wasn’t sure he could get Kuroo back to the strip club after this morning’s incident. Then again, maybe it would braven Kuroo up a bit? Bokuto was unsure, but he decided he had plenty of time to formulate a contingency that would result in Kuroo’s ultimate happiness.

At least… he hoped.

* * *

_Rrrring. Rrrring. Rrrring. Rrrring._

“Argh, _fuck_!” Oikawa rolled over in bed and slammed his hand down on his alarm. Unfortunately, the touch-screen had gone dark and the obnoxious ringing continued to scream at him until he got it silenced.

“What… what the hell?” He squinted at the time and groaned, flopping onto his back, covering his eyes with one arm. “Fucking nine o’clock bullshit alarm. All for fucking laundry day. Today is gonna suck.” Did he have work today? No. Good. His alarm started going off again. “ _Dammit_!” He threw his phone across the room where it landed safely on a week’s worth of clothes scattered across the floor. He sighed.

He dragged himself out of bed about twenty minutes later when the alarm refused to silence itself, turned it off, and left it on the floor in favor of going to the kitchen. God, his whole flat was a mess. It didn’t bother him because he was hardly ever in it, but it was still sore on his eyes when he _did_ see it.

He started a pot of coffee, made some eggs, drank said coffee, finished said eggs, then stumbled back to his room to fish through the disaster on the floor for his phone. When the screen lit up and buzzed, he found it under pair of glittery leggings (not his, god forbid, they were _horrendous_ ). It flashed a message from Akaashi, at which Oikawa frowned — Akaashi never texted him.

_From: angel-chan9:46am  
>> whats up with kenma?_

“Hm?” Oikawa hummed as he walked back to the kitchen, slipping on a sweater to cushion himself from the cold. “Even our fallen angel heard about it? Somebody’s got connections.” He started a reply.

 _To: angel-chan9:49am  
>> idk what you mean. is something wrong? ((_ 　ﾟ _,__ ゝﾟ _)_

He smirked to himself. His conversations with Akaashi were few and far between, may as well have some fun.

He poured himself a second cup of coffee with extra milk and sugar and awaited a reply.

He wasn’t quite expecting what he got back.

_From: angel-chan9:58am  
>> cut the shit i am about to pass out from fever and ibuprofen and am so sick Im calling the hospital as soon as this conversation is over so you should fucking answer my question before i ask that ““friend”” of yours to get actual details instead of some cryptic bullshit i dont have the energy to decipher_

“Oh.” Oikawa stared at the screen for a long minute, coffee poised at the edge of his lips, steamy fingers stroking his glasses. “Okay then.”

He started typing out what he knew, which, admittedly, wasn’t much — boo.

 _To: angel-chan_ 10:04am  
>> \ ᇂ ___ ᇂ _\ all I know is that Kenma is crushing hard on someone he entertained a couple nights ago. Idk who personally, but my, as you put it, ““friend”” does. We’re trying to get them together since neither will admit they’re into the other. Its sad, honestly_ ヾ _(_ ｀ _3 ´ )_ ノ  
>>> Have you talked to kitten-chan?

Oikawa let out a sigh, disappointed he didn’t get to have more fun. Today was going to be a long day — he wasn’t looking forward to it.

 _From: angel-chan10:07am_  
_ >> thanks_  
_ >>> if u never hear from me again assume im dead_

 _To: angel-chan10:08am  
>> will do. I get your costumes (_ ﾉ ◕ヮ◕ _)_ ﾉ _*:_ ･ﾟ✧

* * *

Bokuto was working the backroom coffee grinder when Kuroo sidled in. The grinder had coughed up bean sludge a couple days ago before promptly dying. Daichi would have been the one to fix it had he not had so many interviews for a new job in a field he was good at (which was security, and Daichi was _scary_ good at security). So Bokuto (Kuroo almost felt bad) was stuck with fiddling around with it until it decided to come back to life.

As he dumped himself on the couch, Bokuto asked, “Are you done being sour and bitchy?”

“Yes. Sorry about earlier. I’m… stressed.” Kuroo kept his head tipped backwards.

Bokuto frowned and folded his arms, turning away from the machine. “Honestly, I’m trying to help you.”

“Yeah… I know.”

“Ready to listen?”

“…Yeah.”

Bokuto took a breath and Kuroo glanced up. He was genuinely sorry for snapping at his best friend earlier that morning, but it was true it was from stress.

Kuroo hadn’t been in love in a long time.

If he could even call this “love”…

Bokuto was talking. He narrowed his attention on his friend’s words. “ - Horizon’, and you’re gonna hit up some guy called Sugawara? Anyway, that’s where my part ends, but Sugawara is gonna help from there because he’s friends with this guy named Oikawa — got that from Daichi — who happens to be acquaintances of Iwaizumi… or something like that, Daichi wasn’t very clear. Anyway.” He clapped his hands. “One AM on the dot, Iwaizumi said, not a minute earlier or he’ll be killed — by Oikawa I’m assuming.”

Kuroo stared at him. “Can… can you repeat, like, half of that? Or maybe all of it?”

Bokuto sighed. “You’re going back to the strip club to meet this Kozume Kenma guy, because I know you want to, we all know you want to, and _you_ know you want to. You’re not getting out of this.”

“I — I literally… _cannot_ do that!” Kuroo exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “I can’t just… Bo, he’s a _stripper_. They don’t usually… you know… _date_ or anything.” He made a desperate motion with his hands as he felt his face twist in disappointment and irritation that everyone was still trying so fucking hard to get this to work — and to think it had all started with trying to fix Iwaizumi’s fucked up love-life. When did it turn into fixing Kuroo’s?

Not that there was anything to fix.

Kuroo had lived perfectly contentedly without this Kenma guy for most of his life — not having him in his life now would make no difference.

 _“Liar,”_ the back of his mind whispered. “I’m not going,” his mouth insisted.

“Kuroo - ” Bokuto started, but Kuroo was leaving the room. He already felt out of place as it was.

Stepping into the life of someone like Kozume would only make it worse.

* * *

_From: favorite             3:00pm  
_ _> > I have a problem_

Suga raised an eyebrow at his phone and rolled over in bed.

_To: favorite3:01pm  
>> call me?_

He waited patiently, smirking at his screen before it lit up and started buzzing. He answered quickly.

“This is rare,” he commented, unable to keep the smile out of his voice. “What seems to be the issue?”

There was a long silence before Kenma muttered, _“I might be in love.”_

Suga’s eyebrows shot up and repositioned himself in bed. “That is certainly a problem. How long have you been thinking? About a month? Couple weeks?”

Another long silence, but this was normal, so Suga was patient.

_“Two days.”_

Not what he had been expecting. He sat up and kicked the covers off his legs. “Only two days? That sounds less like you’re in love and more of a crush if not flat-out infatuation.” He knew that was blunt, but Kenma was the kind you couldn’t beat around the bush with. “Kenma, I know little more than you about love — it’s always different for each person. But what I can tell you is that knowing someone for two days does not equate to love. It’s more…” He sought for the right words.

_“Yeah?”_

“It’s more like a neediness, like you’re tricking yourself into thinking your in love because you _want_ to be in love. It’s not surprising, given your line of work, and you’re hardly at the emotionally-detached level Oikawa is” — _Sorry, Tooru_ , Suga added silently — “I’m just surprised it’s taken you nearly two years to experience it for the first time.”

There was a ruffling sound and Suga thought Kenma was shaking his head. _“No, this isn’t the first time. At my old job… I’ve fallen in love before, Suga, I know what it feels like.”_ Another long silence. Suga glanced around his room for fresh clothes. _“I know what it feels like,”_ he repeated, _“it happens fast, before you know it’s happening, and then it’s just too late.”_ He finished with a sigh. Suga didn’t think he’d ever heard Kenma speak so many words at once. He also had to admit Kenma had a point.

When the silence persisted, Suga asked quietly, “Kenma?”

There was another deep sigh. _“I have a problem.”_

Suga could only nod. “Yes, I think you do.” Oikawa had already told Kenma about what was happening tonight, so it’s not like Kenma was being kept out of the loop. Suga wanted to stay in his lane on the matter, but he also wanted Kenma to be happy. He didn’t know this Kuroo Tetsurou, but he didn’t sound like a bad guy. Suga trusted Oikawa — despite all signs pointing at him _not_ to — who trusted Iwaizumi who trusted Kuroo. The connections were all over the place, but in the end Suga wanted to believe this was the best for all of them.

Which meant it was time to change the subject.

“You’re working tonight, right?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

_“…Yeah.”_

Suga nodded to no one. “Text me if you need to talk more, but I should take a shower and be a little productive before my Hell Shift starts. Do you know how Akaashi’s doing?”

_“He’s dying.”_

“Figured. I’ll drop by his place before going to work, get some soup and medicine and all that. I saw his text earlier that you already visited, but just to be sure… We all know that boy can’t take care of himself.”

Kenma giggled quietly. _“You’re the only one who can function responsibly.”_

Suga grinned at his bedroom door. “Keep me updated, okay?”

_“Okay.”_

Suga smiled to himself one last time before hanging up and tucking his phone away. As he exited his bedroom he caught the lingering smells of coffee and eggs. He found it unusual for his roommate to be up and about until he remembered it was laundry day.

* * *

Daichi was about two seconds from losing his shit. Not even having aced his most recent interview relieved any tension from his shoulders — and there was a lot of tension.

Bokuto was stressed. Bokuto was enough to handle on a good day, but now, thanks to the _vastly unneeded_ hostility between him and Kuroo, the whole apartment felt like it was going to collapse under the sour mood.

So, Daichi was extra stressed, because now _on top of_ getting fired, working part-time at two places for minimum wage, and job hunting during all his inbetween hours, he had to deal with some bullshit feud all thanks to that one fucking night two days ago that had _nothing_ to do with him yet still dragged him in all the same.

Not to mention Iwaizumi couldn’t help due to his own job keeping him out all the time — so Daichi was left to keep the sea calm between two of his best friends who were better friends with each other than they were with him, which honestly made this whole damn situation worse.

Bokuto had filled Daichi in, but the details had been spacy. Daichi had asked Iwaizumi, but Iwaizumi didn’t know much more. Kuroo, of course, wasn’t talking, period, and Bokuto wasn’t talking to Kuroo and _neither_ were really talking to Daichi.

Daichi hadn’t done anything wrong. He didn’t deserve this silent treatment.

As ten o’clock started rolling around and they had all miraculously eaten a solid meal (Daichi had to threaten these two _grade-schoolers_ with throwing out all the ice cream if they didn’t come out of their rooms and eat), Daichi had to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

“Kuroo?” He rapped gently on the door.

For the tenth time that day, he thanked the gods that everyone had their own room in this cheap little flat — Daichi wasn’t keen on World War three starting due to two mathematical geniuses sharing a goddamn room and disagreeing over some petty love-life squabble.

There was an extended silence before he heard a mumbled, “What?”

Daichi sighed. “Honestly, this is the last thing I want to bring up right now, but I need to know so I can let others know: are you going to the club tonight or not?”

“No.”

At least he didn’t keep Daichi waiting…

“Fine, that’s all I wanted to know.” As Daichi turned away from the door, it opened and Kuroo stood there fully dressed. Daichi raised an eyebrow. “But you’re… still going out?”

“I can go out if I want to,” he snapped, voice chilled.

Daichi decided not to let it get to him. “Alright, just be back at a reasonable hour, I know you work another opening shift tomorrow.”

Kuroo just scowled and sidled past him. Daichi sighed.

* * *

Suga stared hard at his phone, as if he could wish the letters of the text to rearrange themselves into good news instead of… this.

He wondered who he should talk to first about this new predicament, the one whose emotions were on the line or the one whose money was on the line…

He waved Kageyama Tobio over and handed running the bar over to him so he could go find Kiyoko and then Kenma — or maybe both at once.

Kiyoko was easy to find; as manager of ‘Event Horizon’ she was glued to her office watching six different monitors at all times, ready to page any of their security guards at a moment’s notice if anything looked fishy. However, knowing it was a Tuesday night made Suga confident she could spare a couple minutes away from the desk to help him comfort a surely to-be heartbroken employee.

Suga wasn’t looking forward to this.

When he arrived, he knocked on the cracked door and pushed it open. “Hey, you got a moment?”

She looked up in the darkened room, hair pulled back to keep it out of her face, glasses glowing from the monitors around her. “Is something the matter?”

He shook his head. “Not with me, no, but you know the guy who booked a private session with Kozume?” She nodded and he took a deep breath. “It seems like he can’t make it, and I’m not sure I can break the news by myself.”

She didn’t press for more details, only nodded understandingly and stood. Suga guided her to the backroom where Kenma was getting ready, the only one there at this hour.

And Suga had to do a double take, because even after seeing Kenma dressed up for years, he had never seen him _so stunning_. In all honesty, it was jaw-dropping, something worth an entire week’s salary.

It was like sunlight washing over his body, coiled around his arms and legs and cradling him in its warm, wispy grasp. Fingers of gold trailed down his face and shoulders, curling into the patterns of heaven; aurelian rings pinched around his ears and hands. His hair was pressed and highlighted like gilded charcoal, shimmering under the dim lights of the backroom. When Suga was able to tear his eyes away and glance at Kiyoko, he found her just as starstruck as he was, hypnotized by Kenma’s crimson-lined eyes and ruby lips. He was dressed like an emperor of the wealthiest kingdom imaginable.

Suga was infinitely glad he hadn’t come alone.

Kenma broke the silence after a moment, frowning as if he sensed their tense demeanor, “Is something the matter?”

Kiyoko reorganized herself first and motioned for Kenma to take a seat, she perching on a nearby stool that Suga thought might be Oikawa’s. He himself remained standing.

“I know you were booked for a private session tonight,” Kiyoko began calmly, “but I’m going to need you out on stage for part of the night. Your client canceled.”

Kenma’s face twisted in such pain that it felt like the room dropped several degrees.

“Kiyoko,” Suga started, “he shouldn’t - ” But she put her hand up and silenced him, her steel eyes trained on Kenma’s crestfallen expression.

“Okay,” he managed a minute later, eyes glassy and distant.

Kiyoko nodded and stood, dragging Suga out of the room with her.

“Shouldn’t we - ?”

She shook her head. “There was no easy way to do it, you know that. Everyone knew he was looking forward to tonight. Best to let him be for now.”

He hesitated, but nodded.

When he got back to the bar, Kageyama was chatting with a customer. Suga busied himself until Kageyama approached him asking what was wrong.

“Ah, just a minor crisis,” he replied with a forced smile. “Given a day or two, it should be alright.”

_Probably not, if we’re all being honest…_

“With Kozume?”

“Mhm.”

Kageyama tilted his head to the side, but said no more.

Around midnight the crowd picked up and kept the two bartenders busy. When Kenma came out on stage, Suga kept his eyes on his friend the entire time.

The crowd was roaring half way through the performance and Suga couldn’t blame them — it was like a Saturday night private show for a millionaire, not a Tuesday-evening-crowd dance for all the minimum-wage men and women. Suga smiled at how hard Kenma was trying to be professional given the situation — he was strong, Suga believed he would make it through this.

As Kenma exited the stage, Suga caught his face glittering under the multicolored lights, glistening from something more than just paint and theatrics.

Suga looked at the group currently taking over the bar and decided he could handle them. He walked over and tapped Kageyama’s shoulder, drawing him to the side so he could whisper, “I got this, can you go check on Kenma for me?”

Kageyama was a mix of confusion and concern, but he nodded and hurried away.

* * *

Kenma couldn’t stop the tears. He had been on stage when they had started, and he had been unsure why, but now he understood they were for letting something so simple slip away so easily.

He should have fought for this himself, not let others do all the talking and arranging and hoping and…

And what? Why had he gotten his hopes so high? He had known the guy for what? Two days? He didn’t know anything about the stranger who had clearly been reluctantly pulled to a high-end strip club on a random Saturday night. Kuroo Tetsurou was nothing more than another paying customer, another face in an endless crowd who loved watching Kenma dance.

Yet still, something tore at the inside of his chest and pulled tears from his eyes and for the second time in his life Kenma hated himself with such a passion he felt like crawling into bed and never getting out — these feelings _sucked_ , he _hated_ them, and they _weren’t going away._

“Kozume?”

Kenma choked on a breath and jerked his head up, finding Tobio standing in the doorway of the back room, face twisted in concern and confusion. Kenma turned away and busied himself with fixing and reapplying make up — god, he looked like a ghoul fresh out of the grave. He had been on _stage_ like this; it was almost as mortifying as everything else.

“What?” he sighed, attempting to sound indifferent and failing miserably.

Tobio wandered over awkwardly, clearly unsure about what he was doing and what he should be doing.

“Um, Suga wanted to make sure you were alright,” Tobio started lamely. “Are you alright?”

An amused snort escaped Kenma before he could stop it. “Sure. Yeah. Fine.”

Tobio didn’t look convinced, but wasn’t pushing it — Kenma had decided long ago that there wasn’t a lot going upstairs for him, for which Kenma was thankful.

“Is this about that Kuroo guy?”

God _dammit_.

“Because” — god _why_ was he _still_ talking? — “I’m not exactly in the loop, but I don’t think you should just, like, let this be the end of it.” He shrugged.

A knife of annoyance twisted itself in Kenma’s chest. “What? Like I can just go after him?” he scoffed, almost sneering.

Tobio shrugged. “Why not? What’s stopping you?”

“That’s - ”

Kenma’s words halted in his throat.

_What’s stopping you?_

_What is stopping me?_

He could easily list several things, fear being the most prominent, but the more his mind whirred around those things and turned them over and dissected their process, the more he realized… maybe — maybe nothing was stopping him.

“Kiyoko told Suga who told me to tell you that you can go home early,” Tobio said in a low voice, eyes flickering around uneasily. Kenma frowned, seeing through the lie, but also seeing through Tobio’s sorry attempt at giving him a chance to escape.

And he was definitely taking it.

He mouthed, “Thank you,” before getting to his feet, replacing his dance shoes with winter boots and throwing a jack over himself — he knew he would later regret not taking off his costume in full, but that was later, all he needed to worry about was _now_.

He kept his head down as he slipped through the crowd out the front door — the door no one would really expect him to use. As he hurried past the bouncer outside (standing next to someone he didn’t know, a new recruit maybe?), the large man called after Kenma, “Hey, are you - ?” but Kenma didn’t stop. He was going to be in so much trouble with Kiyoko tomorrow, but he would worry about that then.

* * *

Kuroo was at the the ‘Cat’s Cradle’ earlier than usual, which Yaku pointed out, sliding over the only drink Kuroo ever ordered there. 

“Rough day, then?” Yaku inquired, leaning on the other side of the bar. Kuroo grunted and took a long sip of the Bloody Mary.

“Are you going to tell me about it?”

Kuroo just shrugged.

Yaku sighed. “As a pain as ever, I see.”

“How many times do I have to tell you!” a new, familiarly masculine voice exclaimed from the front door. “You can’t come over to my apartment, _period_ , and I’m never going over to yours again. This is _over_.”

“Aww, but Iwa- _chan_ ,” a second, unfamiliar voice complained their tone lilting like some kind of faery (goddamn Bokuto’s awful fantasy movies were rubbing off on him). Kuroo glanced up to watch Iwaizumi and a second man walking through the door, faces red from the bitter wind outside.

“Ah-ha!” Yaku called, “if it isn’t my second favorite customer.”

“And he’s with your first favorite,” the second man sang with a wink.

Yaku narrowed his eyes. “I don’t even know you.”

The other gasped. “Iwa-chan? You never introduced me?”

Iwaizumi was ignoring both of them, looking at Kuroo. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Kuroo sighed over his drink.

“Is that a Bloody Mary?” the stranger inquired, leaning over Kuroo’s shoulder. “Disgusting.”

“Oh shut up, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi groaned, pulling his friend back by his collar and dumping him into a nearby seat, taking one himself next to Kuroo. “Dude, I thought you were going to be - ”

“Couldn’t do it,” Kuroo interrupted.

“Well, why?”

“Don’t bother,” Yaku said, already preparing the White Russian he knew Iwaizumi was going to ask for. “Kuroo’s already been here an hour and I haven’t gotten anything out of him.”

“Kuroo? As in Kuroo Tetsurou? Oh man, now I feel bad,” Oikawa whined, leaning his chin on his hand, pouting like a child. “Iwa-chan had to turn in a favor that didn’t even end up happening!”

“And that being the case, I would leave now,” Iwaizumi started, “but Yaku is already preparing my favorite so I’ll stay a little longer.” Oikawa was about to say something, but Iwaizumi added, “But that doesn’t mean I’m paying for you.”

“But I didn’t even bring my wallet!”

“You guys are fuckin’ noisy,” Kuroo mutterd into his glass.

Yaku rolled his eyes and nodded.

Iwaizumi turned back to Kuroo. “Listen, dude, you do realize you stood someone up.”

“Stood them up?” Kuroo scoffed. “Isn’t it just part of his job?”

Iwaizumi looked about to respond, but was silenced by Oikawa standing so violently he knocked the stool back. An uneasy quiet fell across the other occupants of the bar. Iwaizumi bent his head and Oikawa came around him to stand over Kuroo’s shoulder, who turned to look up at him.

“‘Part of his job’?” Oikawa hissed, voice low and dangerous, a complete one-eighty from his previous attitude. “Do you even know what his job is? What my job is? Do you think you’re above us? Last I checked, you were some middle-class worker who makes about as much in a week that I make in an hour.” His superior smirk was accompanied by a boiling anger — shivers danced over Kuroo’s skin.

“Oikawa - ”

Oikawa’s hand shot up, silencing anything Iwaizumi was going to say.

“You think you were the one chasing the impossible?” he continued, sneering. “Contrary to popular belief, we’re not whores who’ll do anything for the right amount of money, we’re not sluts who always enjoy being violated in people’s thoughts who think they’re better than us. We have _pride_ , we have _dignity_ , and if you ask me, _Kozume_ was the one chasing the impossible.” He jabbed a finger at Kuroo’s shoulder, who couldn’t find the strength to retaliate despite his own growing anger. “He doesn’t deserve a coward like you.”

The bar was now completely silent, not even the clink of ice on glass echoed from a dim corner.

It continued like that a moment longer — Oikawa glaring, Iwaizumi looking away, Kuroo’s thoughts racing in confused circles with unintelligible words — before a violent phone ring broke the atmosphere, resonating from Oikawa’s pocket.

He let it go for a moment before digging it out, answering it as if he hadn’t just torn Kuroo’s pride to shreds.

“Kitten-chan!” he exclaimed with surprising cheer. “Hm? Do I know where the asshole who stood you up is?” He gave a pointed look at Kuroo, and Kuroo felt more than one pair of accusatory eyes on him. “As it happens, I _do_ know, and since I’m such a nice person, I’ll let you know he’s at the ‘Cat’s Cradle’ on east ave and isn’t leaving any time soon. In fact, Iwa-chan and myself annnnnd…” He glanced around the bar before his eyes landed on a young woman. “And this beautiful angel at the window table will see to it he _stays_.” He grinned at her and she blushed tomato-red. Iwaizumi elbowed him in the side.

“Alright, I’ll see you soon!” Oikawa sang, hanging up to turn a down-right _malicious_ smile on Kuroo. “You know who that was?” he asked with that same, lilting tone from before. Kuroo shrank into his seat.

“Someone who doesn’t want to see me,” Kuroo muttered, feeling heat rising up his neck.

“On the contrary, it was someone who I hope is going to rip you a knew one — it seems he’s feeling confident tonight.”

“Oikawa, stop,” Iwaizumi murmured from where he was staying in his lane, casually drinking and staring straight ahead. Some of the bar’s occupants were turning back to their previous conversations, but others still remained interested in where the drama was going.

Kuroo felt like sinking into the floor and never dealing with anyone ever again.

Emotions were too much effort.

 _Love_ was too much effort.

The door flew open sooner than Kuroo had been hoping (he had almost been hoping it never would) and in stepped Kozume Kenma.

And if Kuroo had thought the bar was quiet before, it was as silent as the dead now. Everyone was staring at the slender man who had just rushed in, face an ethereal crimson, something carved and painted with lines of ruby and shadows of gold by angels and God himself. Even twisted by pain he still looked beautiful.

He looked straight at Kuroo, amber eyes wide and filled with so many emotions he looked like me might cry — or had been crying. A spear of guilt sunk itself into Kuroo’s chest.

“Kozume - ”

“You’re an _asshole_.”

His voice was barely audible, but in the silent bar it was as clear as day.

Yaku was grimacing, likely from second-hand embarrassment. Oikawa simply looked smug. Iwaizumi was ignoring everyone. Kuroo’s eyes were only filled Kozume, his own words like a thousand needles within his mouth — each so precise and clear, each so sharp and painful to say.

Looking back on it minutes later, Kuroo wished he could have managed even a single, stupid word, because it might have been enough to keep Kozme there a moment more to find better words to keep him there longer. Instead, Kozume took in Kuroo’s silence, wrinkled his nose in blatant disgust, and left.

Kuroo collapsed in his seat, looking and feeling deflated.

Yaku patted his shoulder. “You’ll make it, buddy.”

“Do you serve the Screwdriver here?” Oikawa piped up innocently. No one missed the wink he sent in Iwaizumi’s direction. Iwaizumi choked on his drink.

* * *

It was almost midnight and someone was pounding on Akaashi’s door. After a solid five minutes of it, he dragged himself out of bed and wondered if it was a murderer come to kill him — anything would be preferable to this flu.

It wasn’t a murderer, sadly. Akaashi couldn’t hide the disappointment on his face, but he didn’t think Kenma really noticed.

It took a minute or two (or ten) for Akaashi to register that Kenma was still dressed for work. He would have found this more odd had he not been so foggy brained and exhausted.

Kenma wasn’t here to talk, thankfully. He just slipped into the bathroom and Akaashi slipped back into bed. Some time later, Kenma joined him, clean and wearing clothes he had probably picked up off the floor. He pressed himself against Akaashi’s back, and Akaashi tried to think about why this was happening, but he was already asleep.

Not for long though. A blaring ring that could wake the dead broke the silence as violently as someone chopping off a leg. Was his phone reading seven-thirty in the morning? That couldn’t be right, he had just gone to sleep -

Kenma was sitting him up next to him. Shit, he looked like he had been crying. What was Akaashi missing out on?

His phone started ringing again and Akaashi cursed with what voice he had left before answering.

“Wh—?”

_“Is Kozume there?”_

Oh, it was Suga. “Yea—” He broke off in a fit of coughs.

 _“Do you think you can get him to the center fountain? I would but I’m trying to keep an absolutely_ infuriated _Kiyoko off your tail and I can’t reach Oikawa at all… Also I assumed Kozume would be with your place.”_ He sighed. _“And then maybe you should go to the hospital.”_

Akaashi nodded to the static and hung up.

“I’m not going,” Kenma grumbled from the other side of the bed, snuggling deeper under the blankets.

“Yea you are,” Akaashi wheezed, yanking the covers off them both.

* * *

Bokuto’s phone was vibrating out of his pocket and the customers of ‘Crow’s Nest’ were starting to notice. Most of them didn’t seem to mind, but a couple older, more pretentious looking people gave him dirty looks and didn’t tip. 

He, of course, wished them a nice day, but he didn’t mean it.

When the lines slowed down, he escaped to the back to answer the caller.

“What the shit!” he hissed angrily.

 _“Shut up, it’s me,”_ Daichi — who sounded utterly dead — snapped back. _“Are you at work? I’ve been trying to reach you for the past ten minutes!”_

“Yes! I’m at work! What the hell!”

_“There’s a minor emergency. Look, as soon as you can, get Kuroo and go to the center fountain. I’m almost to the shop so I’ll cover for both of you — I’m sure Yachi will understand.”_

Bokuto frowned. “This isn’t about - ?”

 _“It is, and for better or for worse, we’re putting this entire ordeal to_ rest _. I haven’t slept in almost two days between this bullshit and my new job.”_

“You got hired there? Congrats!”

_“Bokuto!”_

“Sorry, back on track. Center fountain. ASAP. Got it.”

Daichi grunted and hung up, and Bokuto was hurrying out of the backroom in search of Kuroo tending a register alongside Natsu.

“Kuroo! Emergency!” he exclaimed, throwing himself over Kuroo’s back, who thankfully wasn’t in the middle of a transaction.

“Are you guys gonna fight again?!” Natsu gasped, backing up a safe five-feet, almost bumping into Futakuchi.

“No, no we’re not,” Bokuto replied with as much cheer as he could muster, already taking Kuroo’s apron off. “We’re going out quickly, we’ll be back later.”

“But Yachi said - ”

The door burst open and Daichi ran in. “Yachi said it was okay!” he shouted, stumbling over chairs in his path to the counter. “I talked her, she said it was alright.” He waved furiously at Bokuto and Kuroo. “Get going, get going!”

“I’m not - ” Kuroo started, but Bokuto was already throwing his jacket at him and pulling him out the door. As they rushed away, Yachi poked her head out from the backroom, inquiring, “What’s going on?”

“Bo, where are we - ?” Kuroo started as they raced through the cold.

“Center fountain!”

The frown was evident in Kuroo’s next words. “This isn’t about - ”

“To be honest, I don’t know what’s it’s about.” And Bokuto wasn’t entirely lying — he just had a really, really good guess.

Bokuto dared not let go of Kuroo’s hand for fear he would turn back, run away, flee like he had every other time (well, maybe not every other time, but enough times — in Bokuto’s opinion, they both needed to stop running).

(They needed others to stop doing the chasing and just chase each other.)

The two friends careened into the center of town, slipping on snow pushed down by hundreds of feet. The fountain was in sight, frozen and bare like it was during the winter, cold and sad-looking under the pale, morning light.

Bokuto instantly recognized Kozume — he was hard to miss when you knew who to look for. The man next to him was a stranger to Bokuto, but he supposed it didn’t matter.

“Oh, oh my god, Bokuto, what the _hell_ ,” Kuroo whispered in agony, halting and beginning to drag his feet, but Bokuto just kept pulling him along.

“Nope nope nope, we are not doing this again,” Bokuto replied sternly. By now, the stranger with dark hair and a sick-mask had tapped Kozume’s shoulder and turned his attention to the approaching pair. Kozume was keeping his face indifferent, but Bokuto knew he _had_ to be feeling _something_. “You are going to talk and shit and settle things _now_ so it stops tearing you fucking apart — like it is with the rest of us just _watching_.”

Kuroo looked stricken. “I can’t, I can’t — Bo, I barely know him!”

“Then get to know him!” He gave one final push and a prayer, forcing his best friend to stumble face-to-face with his unfortunate crush.

* * *

Kuroo felt numb and sluggish and his brain was having a hard time catching up with his body. The brisk morning was just starting to bite his face and hands red, and suddenly he couldn’t feel the cold at all because fire was flooding his body as he stared into such an impassive face it _hurt_. 

“Ko—Kozume,” he began in a hoarse voice, almost afraid to speak in case Kozume ran away -

Kozume running away? No, that had only happened once — and he had been scared, he hadn’t expected to see Kuroo at the cafe at such a weird hour any more than Kuroo had been. If they were all being honest, Kuroo was the one running away. He didn’t want to, of course he just… hadn’t known what else to do.

He could feel his emotions swell like a rising tide. He clenched his fists into his sleeves, digging his nails into his palms as he tried to keep his tongue still — but with Kozume’s hair glinting like a halo under the morning sun, feeting shifting to and fro in the slush, Kozume’s own fingers knotting together -

“What’s your favorite color!”

His eyes jerked up to meet Kuroo’s.

“Wh-what?” he stammered in a whisper.

Kuroo knew his face must be as pink as a cherry blossom, but he couldn’t stop. The words that had been silently piling up were finally breaking free. “Your favorite color… And your favorite food and your favorite place to read and your favorite author and you favorite song. I want to know all of them. Take you out on…” He swallowed and licked his lips, refusing to comprehend whatever expression Kozume had because he was afraid it would silence him once again. “Take you on stupid dates, or read with you, make you breakfast and… and shit,” he finished lamely, shifting his feet, twisting his fingers, and finally meeting Kozume’s eyes.

Their amber color glistened like dust under the tawny sky. Fear settled itself alongside the other volatile emotions in Kuroo’s stomach. He almost felt like he was going to vomit.

“Do…” Kozume started slowly, biting his lip and wringing his hands. Kuroo couldn’t help but marvel at how different Kozume was when he had been dancing on Kuroo’s lap and how he was fidgeting nervously now. Kuroo didn’t think he could ever get enough of either. “Do you… want to… get coffee?”

Kuroo beamed as relief washed over him. “Caramel macchiato?”

Kozume jumped, meeting Kuroo’s eyes in surprise. “How…?”

Kuroo smiled in shame, rubbing the back of his neck, liking that the heat from before was slowly fading as he grew more comfortable. “Ah, I saw it from your receipt a couple days ago. It’s fine if you want something else…”

Kozume looked to the side, and Kuroo felt his heart beat like a hummingbird at the sight of soft red dusting his cheeks. “No… That’s fine…”

Kuroo glanced back to where Bokuto stood with who he assumed was Kozume’s friend. He smiled and Bokuto returned it alongside a thumb’s up.

Kuroo, as he worked in a coffee shop, was well-versed in the best cafes around the area — and like hell he was going back to the ‘Crow’s Nest’. He quickly led Kozume into one of the nearer, nicer cafes that served a mean hot chocolate, so he could only assume their caramel macchiatos were just as good.

Once each drink had been ordered, served, and the two were seated near a window with a great view of the iced river and wintry trees beyond, Kuroo began, “I’m… I’m sorry.” With Kozume’s attention on him and off his drink, Kuroo continued. “I shouldn’t have done what I did last night, but I was scared. I…” He swallowed his pride — all was fair in love and war, afterall. He tightened his fingers around his steaming mug. “I ran away like a coward, hurt my friends who were trying to help, and hurt you even more. And… I’m sorry for that.”

Kozume was silent for a long moment, taking infrequent sips from his own mug. His eyes moved from his drink to Kuroo’s hand, out the window to the people wandering below, and back to the present conversation.

“I… feel bad too. I let too many people speak for me,” he murmured. “Who in turn spoke for you. I was mad you left, but… I’m glad you came back.”

They sat in nice, comfortable silence — neither pressured to speak any more than they wanted to.

After a while, Kenma raised his eyes. “Red. My favorite color is red. I like apple pie, I like to read in bed, I enjoy a lot of Tammy’s works, and I guess I listen to a lot of things by Nobuo Uematsu.” He glanced up, face betraying little emotion, but Kuroo was staring at him like one might at a freshly bloomed peony.

“You’re… really cute,” Kuroo murmured before he realized it. Kozume flushed and he buried his face in his mug, curling in on himself. Kuroo wasn’t sure if he should feel bad or not, but being in Kozume’s shy presence made Kuroo feel a little more confident — or, at least confident enough to think most of his words through.

“You… you can call me Kenma,” Kozume whispered over his mug after a minute, eyes looking everywhere except Kuroo. “If… if I can call you… Tetsurou.”

Kuroo almost choked on his hot chocolate. “Th-that’s fine.”

They sat in silence as they finished their drinks, exchanging a couple words now and then about the cozy atmosphere of the cafe, and how they both liked ‘Crow’s Nest’ better.

It was almost nine when they stepped out of the cafe. They wandered aimlessly, pointing out interesting things they saw in shop windows. Kozume — _Kenma_ — mentioned something about a new video game that came out. They chatted about what they did in their freetime. It was all very quiet and autonomous conversation, but Kuroo supposed this was where he would have to start if he wanted to get any closer.

After a bit, Kenma motioned down a street that Kuroo recognized as close to where ‘Event Horizon’ was. He wondered if they were heading towards the club or someplace else.

Kenma pointed to a building that looked like a series of apartments. “This is… my place.”

“Ah.” Kuroo swallowed and wondered why he was here — that is, he _knew_ why he was here, but he was definitely hoping to _talk_ a little more before anything _else_ happened. “Okay.”

Kenma lead the way up a couple flights of stairs, and Kuroo followed him into one of the flats — a place that had probably been spacious at one point, but was now cluttered with cast-away clothes and a number of other things. They removed their shoes and tip-toed forward.

“If you hear a strange noise, it’s probably just Ghost,” Kenma warned softly. Kuroo’s eyes landed on two ceramic bowls with paw prints on them and he assumed Kenma was talking about a cat or some other such domestic, furry creature.

“Okay. Thanks.”

Kenma’s home smelled like warmth and summer flowers. A sweet scent hung in the air, like something fresh out of the oven that permeated every corner of the living room. The blinds were pulled back and the natural light that flooded in bathed the room in a fair violet glow, the sun filtered through the gray, snowy clouds outside. A dusting of snow had gathered on the sill, and Kuroo felt the chill passing through his feet and up his legs.

Despite that, he couldn’t help but feel so _warm_. The sweet scent of the room cocooned him like an invisible blanket, calming his jumping nerves and evening his breath. He inhaled deeply, trying to pinpoint what exactly was the culprit of such a heavenly smell, but couldn’t even begin to guess.

He still loved it, though. It reminded him of honey and blackberries, of daylilies and prunellas, of sunshine and shadows.

His eyes fell to Kenma, who wandered ahead of him. Kenma’s hair was pulled back, the pepper and gold of it captivating Kuroo’s eyes. He imagined eggs fresh off the stove, brewing early morning coffee without milk; he imagined tea simmering in a warm mug, flavored by spoon fulls of cane sugar; he imagined thick, dark nights that seemed so lonely, only to be easily broken by the rising sun and the warm embrace of -

Kenma stopped and turned to him, cinnamon eyes meeting Kuroo’s own in a questioning, eager look. Kuroo could feel the redness creeping up his cheeks, his heart thundering in his chest, unable to break away from that intense, alluring gaze.

“Um…” Kenma looked sideways at the cluttered ground, arms folding around himself. He looked so much more smaller and vulnerable in this large room. “I… I do want to… date you. But it’s probably too soon so it’s fine if - ”

“It’s fine.”

Kuroo took a step closer.

“We’ll probably fuck up a lot of it, and gods know we’re rushing and thinking nothing through, but I’m… I’m ready to jump into that question with you.”

Kuroo swallowed. Kenma blinked.

“Are you in love with me?”

Neither was sure of who had spoken the words, each so soft and gentle. The answer, they both knew, was yes.

Kuroo’s hand drifted forward, slipping against the nape of Kenma’s neck, his thumb caressing silky dark hair. Kuroo leaned down, hesitating, questioning how far he was allowed to go — and he was reminded of that night what felt like eons ago, when his body had been asking those same questions and Kenma had been giving the same answers.

“I’m in love with you.”

Kuroo knew it was he who spoke this time. The words were thick in his throat, demanding his attention, unwillingly calling it away from Kenma’s glowing, hopeful eyes. Kuroo’s head felt too light and his feet too heavy — he felt like he was being ripped apart by gnawing anticipation and unguided questions.

But then Kenma smiled, and Kuroo felt his heart stop.

“I’m… I’m in love with you, too.”

His voice was soft, gentle. Kuroo’s heart beat to each word.

“And… I want to believe in… in a future again.” He glanced away again, a shadow of past-strife creasing his features before moving on. “I can… see that with you,” he finished quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

And Kuroo was no longer afraid. He wasn’t sure what had first planted the seed of anxious dread (besides the chance his feelings wouldn’t be returned), but it had been uprooted and tossed away so easily by Kenma’s reassuring words.

Kuroo grinned as he rested his forehead against Kenma’s. “It’s funny,” he whispered, bringing his other hand to brush Kenma’s cheek with such loving affection he might burst, “but my mother, well.” He chuckled. “She told me there’d be boys like you.”

Kenma grinned, all lips and dimples and suppressed laughter. “Well, you’re mom wasn’t wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, endless thanks to coruu and illiet who provided amazing fucking art, and tash and my friend who doesn't even watch haikyuu who helped edit and gave moral support. bless


	3. happy endings are hardest to fake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so //technically// the story ""ended"" at chp2. This here is like. an extra to wrap up a couple loose ends.  
> sorry this took so long to write lol  
> I tried to make it fluffy :^)

Kuroo had taken to meeting Kenma after work to walk him home. At first it was due to a newfound protectiveness Kuroo had developed as he learned more about Kenma’s line of work. A week or so later, it was simply because he enjoyed wandering the early morning hours in a quiet world with the one who held his entire heart. About a week after that, Kenma offered Kuroo spend the night, since it was usually a long walk for Kuroo back to his flat. Kuroo gratefully accepted, and once Kenma had showered (“taken his face off” as he liked to call it) they’d watch an episode or two of whatever was airing at god-forsaken four AM, maybe exchange a couple conspiracy theories, then slip into bed where they fell asleep with fingers intertwined.

It was the most carefree Kuroo had felt in ages. Even with the threat of the new school semester looming ever closer, he felt stress-free and happy.

He felt like he was home.

It became evident sometime later, though, that something was eating at Kenma’s conscience. Some nights, he’d seem distant from Kuroo, and cringe away from points of contact. Other nights, he’d almost be overbearingly clingy, trying to instigate something more intimate that Kuroo didn’t know how to respond to.

It all gave Kuroo an uneasy feeling. Part of him wanted to take Kenma whole, feel himself inside his lover, own every part of Kenma’s body, kiss until they were drunk off each other’s love. Yet another part of him didn’t like the idea of that. It wasn’t that he was worried about inexperience (it had been come to light after various late-night conversations that Kuroo was more experienced than Kenma), he simply didn’t feel a strong urge to act on the primal instincts that had ruled his superficial relationships most of his life.

He guessed what Kenma was feeling was similar.

* * *

Kuroo’s jacket scrapped corrugated brick as he leaned outside ‘Event Horizon,’ fiddling around with his phone. At any other given hour he might have looked weird, maybe a stalker, but at three AM with no one out and both the securities guards knowing him, he felt comfortable looking creepy.

Like clockwork, at three-fifteen Daichi popped his head out the door and gestured for Kuroo to come in. At that point the club had been emptied and cleaned, and Kiyoko had relented to letting him wait inside out of the cold until Kenma was ready to leave.

“How was the night?” Kuroo inquired as he followed Daichi over to the bar, taking a seat beside him.

“Pretty calm. It’s only Thursday. Well, Friday now, but you know what I mean.”

Kuroo nodded as the bartender handed them each a glass of water. Kuroo thanked him — Kageyama, Kuroo believed his name was. The regular bartender, Sugawara, tended to leave as soon as the club closed.

“So, should we take your name off the lease?” Daichi commented after downing the water in one go. “You haven’t been back for nearly two weeks, are you like…? Moving in with Kozume?”

Kuroo paused for a long moment before shrugging. “I’ll have to talk to him about it, but… I think I would want to.”

Daichi only nodded. “You’ve basically been living together for two weeks, so… No one is surprised, to be honest.”

Kuroo laughed over his water. “Yeah, that’s fair. I’ll continue to pay my share until you renew the lease.”

Daichi waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. Bokuto will be sad to see you go, but I’m pretty Iwaizumi and I can handle him. Also, even between three people, the rent isn’t that expensive. Especially since getting hired here.”

“Are you sure? I feel bad, just kinda ditching everyone like that…”

Daichi just shrugged. “Nah. Don’t worry about it,” he repeated.

Kuroo turned his mouth to the side in a ‘whatever-you-say’ gesture and Daichi chuckled.

“Feels like we never see you at the shop, anymore,” Kuroo commented.

“Sleeping away my mornings and afternoons,” Daichi replied with a grunt.

“Oh, good evening, Kuroo,” a new voice said from behind them, and the two men jumped to their feet to greet Kiyoko. Kuroo couldn’t help but marvel at how put-together she was, despite the early morning hours — he had honestly never met someone who always looked like they just walked out of a photoshoot.

“Are you ready to leave, ma’am?” Daichi asked, reaching for his jacket laying across the bar.

Kiyoko shook her head. “If you don’t mind, there’s a couple things left I have to take care of.” She moved her ever-impassive gaze to Kuroo. “Kenma will be ready to leave soon. Thank you for always walking him home.”

“It’s, uh, my pleasure,” Kuroo stammered, having never heard Kiyoko speak so many words. She nodded and headed to the back rooms once more, leaving Daichi to sigh.

A new pair of footsteps echoed from between the darkened tables and Kenma emerged, all wrapped up despite the warming weather. Kuroo smirked, loving how cute Kenma looked bundled up in a thick jacket and scarf.

“Ready to head out?”

Kenma only nodded. Not all his makeup had been washed off yet, and Kuroo admired his winged and shaded eyes. Make-up was certainly a thing to be marveled at. He sometimes wondered if he’d look good in it too.

“Well, we’re off, nice chattin’ with you, Daichi,” Kuroo said with a wave.

Daichi returned it tiredly. “Catch ya later.”

Outside, a breeze smelling of old rain and early morning swept across the streets, Kuroo and Kenma walked side by side down the street. A stretch of silence later, they stopped at the twenty-four hour convenience store to grab something quite to drink — a can of sweet tea for Kuroo; a cup of hot tea for Kenma. Both were disappointed when they saw the machine usually hosting steamed bean buns had an ‘Out Of Order’ sign.

Both had finished drinking when they reached Kenma’s apartment building. In the elevator, Kuroo finally took Kenma’s hand in his own and held it tight for the ride up. When it dinged at floor fourteen, they walked slowly down the hall, footsteps light, breathing delicate. It smelled like flowers and rain.

“Hungry?”

Kenma shook his head.

Kuroo let Kenma unlock the door and slip in first. Inside was dark, faintly illuminated by the rising sun beyond the translucent curtain. Kuroo knew his way well around the apartment now, though, so he skipped over the box of cat food and laundry and random coffee mugs strewn across the floor to the living room. Kenma, after hanging up his coat, followed.

“Anything to drink?”

Kenma shook his head.

Kuroo was about to take his usual spot in the living room and maybe hope to see Kenma’s cat, Ghost, for the first time, but was stopped by Kenma grabbing his sleeve.

Kuroo turned to ask if something was wrong, but was cut off by Kenma all but lunging at him for a kiss — a kiss that Kuroo was more than happy to return. He opened his mouth to Kenma, feeling the blood-colored lipstick smear across his own lips. Kuroo raised his hands to Kenma’s face, running his thumbs over Kenma’s cheekbones, rubbing at the soft makeup still clinging to Kenma’s skin.

Kenma pushed forward, sending Kuroo stumbling with his back to the wall as Kenma all but clawed at his shirt and skin. Kuroo returned the embrace with less vigor, both confused but willing to do anything Kenma wanted -

The kiss broke off like a falling icicle and Kenma stepped away, leaving a freezing space between them only warmed by their heaving breaths.

“Ken… ma…”

“Nev… nevermind,” was all Kenma had to say.

Kuroo dumped himself on the couch with a sigh, too tired to really dwell on the emotions tornadoing around them, and Kenma vanished into the bathroom. Kuroo flicked through the four AM channels, half listening to news stations and reality shows and half listening to the shower running, the scent of shampoo wafting out from under the door. When Kenma emerged, hair still damp, Kuroo made room for them to curl up against each other.

“Are you tired?”

Kenma shook his head.

They watched the TV with blurry eyes, twisting their fingers together. When the clock struck five AM, they flick the TV off and crawled into bed. A blink and a heartbeat later they were both fast asleep in each other’s arms.

* * *

 _“Ah, um… I hope I have the right number,”_ a young, male voice mumbled from the lingering reaches of Kuroo’s dream. He cracked his eyes open and tried to focus on Kenma’s phone blinking at him from the floor. _“This is Hinata, Hinata Shouyou. I got your number from a friend. Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to meet up…?”_ The person laughed nervously. _“Anyway, you can call me back any time, I’m usually free. Oh! My number is - ”_ He went on to list a series of static numbers before giving a rushed goodbye and hanging up.

Kuroo felt weird. A tangle of unease and anger was raging in his stomach and giving him a headache. Though it was an emotion he was vastly unfamiliar with, he could pretty accurate guess it was jealousy. _Who exactly is calling Kenma and trying to initiate a friendship? Does he have ulterior motives? Does this Hinata boy have a crush on Kenma? Actually, Hinata sounds familiar; Hinata Natsu works at the coffee shop. Then_ this _Hinata should know that Kenma is taken -_

 _Stop it,_ he ordered himself.

The bed shifted beside him and Kenma rolled over, pressing his face into Kuroo’s back. It was a calming touch, yet Kuroo couldn’t help the mix of murky emotions bubbling in his stomach. _Jealousy. Apprehensiveness. Worry. Confusion. Is Kenma really mine?_

Part of him knew what this was about: he was missing that physical connection of intimacy, the assumed lovemaking that accompanied any committed relationship; but at the same time, Kuroo held Kenma so close to his heart that he felt bringing Kenma any closer would simply drive him away.

Kuroo sat up and stretched. Kenma mumbled a, “Going?”

Kuroo nodded as he slipped out of bed. “Getting some coffee.” Kenma only hummed in reply.

Phone left charging by the toaster as it always did, Kuroo started a pot of coffee before grabbing it and searching ‘ _is sex necessary in a relationship?’_

* * *

A long time ago, Kenma had decided that he loved money more than people, and material things more than what people thought of him.

But then Tetsurou had stumbled into his life and Kenma had found someone more important than himself.

He supposed that was what love was: putting someone before yourself. At least, that was the textbook version. A more complicated question had since arisen: how could Kenma prove this to Tetsurou? Prove that he meant the world to Kenma? Prove that Kenma would put Tetsurou before anyone and anything else for the rest of Kenma’s life?

Kenma rolled over to Tetsurou’s side of the bed and fumbled around with the clothes on the floor before retrieving his phone. _1 New Message_ blinked at him as he pressed play.

 _“Ah, um… I hope I have the right number,”_ the voice started bashfully. _“This is Hinata, Hinata Shouyou.”_ Oh, Kenma knew who that was. _“I got your number from a friend.”_ Probably Tooru, that bastard. _“Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to meet up…?”_ A laugh. Kenma smirked at the embarrassed tone. _“Anyway, you can call me back any time, I’m usually free.”_ Kenma hit ‘end’ and tossed the phone back to the floor.

 _Love was putting someone before yourself…_ Kenma put a lot of things and people ahead of himself, and if that was love, then what made Tetsurou so different? How much would Kenma sacrifice himself in pursuit of Tetsurou’s happiness? Usually at this point in a relationship, the people involved had made love or had sex or done _something_ regarding doing the do — yet Kenma and Tetsurou had not gone beyond kissing or touching. Either one or the both of them retracted before it went further. _“Not yet,”_ one would say, or _“I’m too tired,”_ and sometimes even, _“I’m not feeling it tonight.”_ Well apparently neither of them were ever feeling it at night…

Kenma’s lips pulled to the side in thought. Maybe Tetsurou wasn’t a night-time kind of person? Maybe he liked doing things like sex during the day?

Kenma launched himself out of bed, stumbling through the chilled apartment in his boxers to the kitchen, crashing into Tetsurou who was preparing a cup of coffee, splashing most of it to the counter and causing Tetsurou’s phone to fall and skid across the floor.

“Kenma, wha - ” he started, but Kenma cut him short with his own lips, stealing Tetsurou’s breath and the rest of his words. _You gotta kiss him_ , his mind repeated. _You gotta kiss him, you gotta prove to him that you love him. So you gotta kiss him. You gotta._

So Kenma kissed deeper, hooking his arms around Tetsurou’s neck and dragging him down to Kenma’s level. Tetsurou’s hands moved fleetingly between Kenma’s hair to his neck to his waist and to his hands. Kenma was kissed back, but not with the same ferocity, not with the same passion, and Kema couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Shouldn’t this be what Tetsurou wanted? Kenma had been itching to please his lover for weeks now, never sure if he should go for it _now_ or _later_.

Until now, Kenma had always settled on _later_ , waiting for some sort of ‘okay’ from Tetsurou, yet Kenma had never gotten any signal like that.

“Ke - Kenma! _Stop_.”

Tetsurou’s voice was gentle, frighteningly gentle. Kenma froze before quietly pulling away, keeping his eyes closed so he wouldn’t cry. Why would he cry? He didn’t know, he didn’t know anything.

“…Are you okay?”

Kenma shook his head.

“…Did you want to… ask me something?”

He shook his head again, paused, then amended with a nod.

“What’s - ?”

“I don’t know!” Kenma exclaimed, startling himself. “I just don’t know! I love you! I love you so much and I don’t know what to do with all of it!” _What was he saying?_ “I touch you because I want you to know how much I love you, but it just… feels so… _wrong_ !” _What was he saying?_ “That’s not normal, is it? You’ve had sex before, you know what a relationship like this entails!”

Kuroo’s face was twisting, but Kenma couldn’t decipher the expression. “Kenma - ”

“But you never do anything! How… how am I supposed to know you really love me if you don’t…”

“Ken - ”

“But I think about it and it bothers me too, but how else… how else am I supposed to know you love me?”

_What was he saying?_

“How else are you supposed to know I love you, too?!”

_What the hell was he saying?_

Kenma heaved breaths, feeling uncomfortable as heat flooded his body. He couldn’t even look Kuroo in the face as he tried, himself, to comprehend everything he had just said -

“Kenma… we don’t need to…” He licked his lips and Kenma blinked, looking up at Kuroo. Was he smiling? “It’s not… That is, this isn’t something… They say we do, but… _Shit_ I’m not saying this right…” He grimaced and glanced to the side, but that small smile remained and Kenma was simply more confused than ever.

Kuroo breathed a quick sigh before dipping his head down to kiss Kenma — slow, deep, and lovingly, so much different from before, so less desperate and messy. He kissed across Kenma’s lip and Kenma could only kiss back, because he _wanted_ to and it all seemed so simple, kissing Kuroo like this.

“See?” Kuroo pulled back, Kenma chasing him for an inch before halting, opening his eyes to stare into Kuroo’s face so relaxed with love and understanding. “We don’t need much more than this, do we?”

An unexplainable relief welled up in Kenma’s chest, tears pushing at the corners of his eyes.

“We… we don’t have to…?”

Kuroo shook his head.

Kenma felt the tension leave his shoulders.

“Oh,” he breathed. “That’s…”

In the midst of the pause, Kuroo’s miniscule composure crumbled into fits of quiet laughter. “I’m — I’m sorry, you just… just looked so baffled and relieved and it was almost funny.” He continued laughing until Kenma’s face scrunched into a pout and he leaned up to kiss Kuroo just to shut him up.

And he was content like this.

He was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who read this and left kudos and comments you guys always make my day. seriously. I love all of you so much ^///^

**Author's Note:**

> [Series playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL94R2oaXQf7HGd3t70g4xONHWn2AyjxJ9)  
>  Kuroken specific songs: End Credits | My Mama Told Me | I’m A Good Girl | Pray | Don't Let Me Down
> 
> OKAY BUT DID U SEE THE ART BY [CORUU](http://coruu.tumblr.com/post/149817667108/i-have-finally-finished-my-haikyuu-big-bang) AND [ILLIET](http://illiet-art.tumblr.com/post/150192364273/here-is-my-piece-for-the-haikyuu-big-bang-i-had) YET BC YOU GOTTA


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